Through this Horror
by Gingham
Summary: Six months after the events of Repentance, Jack finds himself doing the one thing he's promised not to do: keeping a secret from Phryne. Echoes of past events begin to colour reality as our two detectives deal with a case that has them questioning everything; even their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

Hi everyone,

This is something I have been playing around with, another multi-chapter fic set six months after the end of _Repentance_. Although you don't have to have read that to get this, it is very much a continuation of those characters after the events of that story, so some things may not make sense if you haven't.

I'm hoping to post fairly regularly, though a warning that it won't be every day, especially as I'm currently moving house... should be packing... but I'm typing...

Anyway hope you guys like this first chapter!

Gingham xx

 **Through This Horror**

 **Chapter 1**

 ** _"_** ** _You gain strength, courage, and confidence by each experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, "I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along." You must do the thing you think you cannot do."_**

 _ **Eleanor Roosevelt**_

()

Jack Robinson sat at the table in the front garden of Wardlow and watched the sun setting behind the houses.

His head was aching after a long and difficult day at City South. The case that the Deputy Commissioner had brought to him…

But he didn't want to think about that just now. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, taking in the lavender scented evening air.

He could the hum of traffic a few streets over, the wail of a cat somewhere in the gardens. From inside the house he could hear the faint sounds of laughter; Jane, presumably, amusing Mr Butler as he prepared the evening meal.

It must have been six months since he and Phryne had sat here together in the aftermath of the Cosgrove case; him a reluctant guest, her a force of nature on the side of his return to good health and standing. He had been brought so low by his failure to find that little girl.

Somehow, Phryne had kept him held together, kept him standing when he could envision no future but lying drunk on the floor of his bungalow.

And out of the ashes….

He smiled to himself.

Six months. Six months they stopped denying themselves. Six months since he realised he could imagine no other life but with her. It had been the best six months of his life, without question. Everything they had been through had forged them into a stronger partnership. And they were reaping the rewards, no doubt about it. He could never have imagined being as open with anyone as he was with Phryne. Not his family, not even Rosie. Knowing each other so well allowed them a certain freedom. He'd never been as playful as he could be with her. She'd never made herself as vulnerable. They'd never laughed as much; that was unexpected too, given the various traumas that had been instrumental in bringing them together. Their shared experience had allowed them a relationship free from judgement and restrictions; at least, that was the case internally.

Externally, things had to be a little more restrained. Being one half of a committed couple with no plans to marry may be easier for a daughter of a Baron than for a police inspector, but Jack found that as long as they didn't flaunt it too much, most people were content to let them be. He kept on his bungalow for reasons of propriety, but in actual fact he spent most of his time at Wardlow, where he had been happy to become more and more engrained in Phryne's loving and (thankfully) liberal minded family unit.

"Jack?"

He opened his eyes and found himself looking into the face of a bemused 16 year old.

Jane. There was another benefit of this family life at Wardlow, one that he had been surprised to find he missed almost as much as Phryne on those rare occasions he did venture back home. Jack had imagined himself as a father, a long time ago. But somehow his imaginings had never stretched this far. To be… not a father, of course, but somehow significant in the life of a teenage girl was an odd sensation, and one that had taken him a few months to get used to. It wasn't so difficult really, given that he and Phryne had found her together. Technically, he supposed, he had known her longer (by minutes). But it had been Phryne who had taken her in, given her a home and a family, and a new life. And at first, Jack had worried about how Jane would feel about him inserting himself into this life. But when she had returned from Europe, Jane had seemed to accept his relationship with Phryne as old news. Pleasant, but old. In fact, she claimed (with all the precocious wisdom of a teenager) that she had known all along. She even had the mistletoe incident as proof. Phryne had said, proudly, that it showed the makings of a legal mind.

"Hello."

"Aren't you coming in?" Jane wore her hair loose these days, having dismissed her pigtails as childish long ago. It stretched down her back to a ridiculous length. Jack wondered how she wasn't constantly catching it in doors.

"I am," he said, rising. "How was your day?"

"Highly uninteresting," Jane replied, leading him into the house. "Packing is so dull."

Jane had returned to Melbourne for Christmas but was planning another European trip. Paris, to take some courses and improve her French before thinking about university. He knew Phryne secretly wished she would study in Australia, but she would never intrude in what had to be Jane's decision.

"You don't have to take everything. There are shops in Paris, I understand."

She looked at him to make sure he was joking, and smiled. Her year abroad had given her Phryne's interest in fashion, and her wardrobe now took up half her bedroom.

"It's the books," she said, referring to what was taking up the other half. "They're so heavy."

"Ah, well." Jack smiled down at her as he hung up his hat and overcoat. "You know, I'm more than willing to take temporary custody of them."

"I bet you are," said Jane, playfully. Over the last few months, they had bonded over a shared love of literature.

"I'm just thinking of you. I don't want the boat to sink."

Jane narrowed her eyes. "That's exactly what Phryne said."

"Great minds think alike." Her clear voice startled him, and he looked up to see its owner descending the staircase, resplendent in a white blouse and silken electric blue skirt. He blinked, taken, as always, by her radiance. He rarely saw her outfits till the evening, or during the day if they worked on a case together. He looked forward to it every day, the discovery of what combination of fur or feathers or silk he would get to unwrap later. When he left in the mornings, she was usually still in a robe, if not actually in bed. A fact, he had argued, that made it so much harder to leave in the mornings.

That, she had argued, was very much the point.

She inclined her cheek to him as she reached him and he kissed her, breathing in her scent.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"He was sitting outside," Jane answered.

Phryne darted a look at him. "Was he?"

Jack smiled at her reassuringly. She was always alert; part of her fear, he knew, that he would come up against a case that would remind him of Lucy Cosgrove. It wasn't overbearing, and he didn't begrudge it. He knew she had suffered through that whole episode as much as he had. He appreciated it, her watching for trouble, as much as he regretted that she had to do it.

But they had an agreement. He would carry that case forever. He tried not to let it haunt him, though, of course there were times it did. Going back to work had meant accepting that possibility. There had been cases. There had been times it had hurt again. But they had always talked about it, and between them, made it better. She was watchful, he knew. But she was trusting as well.

Somehow that made what he was actually hiding worse.

"Just shaking off the day," he said.

"Tough one?" she asked.

"Mmm."

She looked at him with concern.

"Just the usual," he said, trying to indicate that it was nothing for her to worry about.

She nodded and seemed to relax. Jane disappeared into the kitchen. He took the opportunity to wrap his arms around his waist, pulling her into him.

"Hello," she said, smiling at his closeness.

"I missed you today," he said, nuzzling into her hair.

"I meant to come and see you," she replied. "But then Aunt Prudence announced she was coming for dinner. A goodbye meal for Jane."

"She's not going for three days."

"But Aunt Prudence is busy tomorrow and the next day." Phryne added a dramatic flair to her next sentence. "So we must bend to the society calendar!"

He chuckled. "I see."

"I think she just wants to see you." Phryne smirked.

Prudence Stanley had been one of Jack's biggest supporters during his absence from the police force, and was now fully supportive of his relationship with her niece. In fact, she had recently insisted that Jack take to calling her "Aunt Prudence". As much as he appreciated the kindness of the offer, Jack couldn't quite bring himself to do it yet.

"Something smells nice," he remarked.

"My perfume?" she asked, innocently.

He smiled. She smelt delightful, as usual, but for once that wasn't what was making his mouth water. "Eau de chicken fricassee?"

"I thought you deserved a good meal," Phryne laughed. "You've been working too hard lately."

"Mmm. God bless Mr. Butler," Jack murmured.

"What about me?" Phryne smirked, her fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck.

"God bless you, too."

Her lips parted in a smile before meeting his, revelling in the feel of him.

()

Much later, Phryne closed the door behind her departing Aunt with a guilty pang of relief. She loved her Aunt, and been touched and relieved at her support of her relationship with Jack. Though perhaps seen as upright and proper (and possibly even dragon-like) by most of Melbourne's high society, Prudence was kind enough and human enough to recognise a loving partnership when she found it, no matter how unconventional it might be in the eyes of others. Any other day, Phryne would have been content to spend an evening in her company, but tonight something about Jack's demeanour had bothered her enough to draw her attention away from the conversation.

Outwardly, he seemed almost the same. He'd come in, chatting happily enough with Jane about her upcoming adventure. He'd drawn her in close, kissed her, breathed her in. All of these things were good signs. She knew to be worried when retreated from her, not when he sought her out. Part of her was always on alert for those warning signs; the sullen silences, the tiredness, the wish to be alone, those empty gazes resting on the horizon. She knew they spelled danger, a return to a place they had both struggled long and hard to escape from. But he wasn't like that tonight. He smiled, he conversed easily with Jane and Prudence, he was affectionate with her, perhaps more so than usual. He just seemed quieter, somehow. Sadder, maybe?

She made her way back into the parlour. Jane had retired to bed sometime before and Mr Butler was in the kitchen tidying up. Jack was sitting on the chaise, leaning back against the cushions heavily. He gave her a tired smile as she returned and made her way to the drinks cabinet.

"Whiskey?"

"Please."

She poured two, and brought them over to the chaise, relinquishing one before reclining against him. He settled her into their now familiar position, his hands resting lightly on her body as she laid against his chest.

There was a soft silence.

"You're quiet tonight."

Was that a sudden tension she could feel beneath her? His breath brushed over her hair as it left him.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise."

More silence. Jack pressed his nose into her hair.

"You're alright?" she pressed.

"Yes, I'm fine." He sounded reassuring rather than impatient and Phryne relaxed slightly. "There is something I need to tell you though."

She angled her head back to look at him. "What is it?"

"I've been asked to go away for a while."

"Why?!" She noted, with some annoyance, how unhappy that prospect made her.

He smiled at her indignant expression. "Not because of anything bad. There's a case in a small town near Adelaide. They only have a tiny police force and they're struggling."

"So they've asked you to lead the investigation?" Despite the prospect of his absence, she was pleased. It did Jack good to be reminded of how respected and valued he was in the police force.

He nodded, his eyes thoughtful.

"What kind of case is it?"

"A murder."

"How intriguing!" She sat up, any former tiredness leaving her.

A slight grimace crossed his face.

"Would you… need any assistance with this case?" she pressed hopefully. The prospect of a holiday with Jack (even a holiday involving a murder, which was par for the course, really) dangled invitingly in her imagination.

But Jack was shaking his head. "No." At her affronted expression, he hurried to console her. "I'm sure you would be invaluable. As always. But…" he looked uncomfortable. "There's some sensitivity about this. I can't tell you much about it."

"Even more intriguing!" Phryne breathed. "What _can_ you tell me?"

"Not much."

"Anything more than you've told me already?"

A pause. "No."

"Jack!" It was almost a wail.

"I'm sorry, Phryne," Jack sounded genuinely contrite. "My hands are tied."

Phryne felt a sense of being cast adrift. "But…" she tailed off, at a loss. "Surely..." she snaked her hands around his neck, certain that her powers of persuasion were up to the task.

"Phryne…" Jack said warningly, his hands on hers. She understood. She'd never had to bring those tactics into play with him, not since they had become intimate, anyway. If he said he couldn't tell her, it was probably because he really couldn't tell her.

"How long will you be away?"

He shrugged. "Two weeks. Maybe three. As long as it takes, really."

She frowned. "That seems deeply unfair. When do you have to go?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!"

"I only found out today."

"Why didn't you say before?" Her expression was tinged with concern. This all seemed very odd.

He scratched his head, looking awkward. "I didn't want to interrupt dinner."

"Jack!" She blew out her breath impatiently.

"I know… Look," he said, pulling her onto his chest. "I'm not particularly happy about it either. It's a long time away and… I don't relish the prospect of investigating _anything_ without you trying to beat me to the solution the whole time."

She let herself melt into him, her cheek pressed up against his chest. "Is that your way of grudgingly admitting that you'll miss me, Inspector?"

"No." He allowed himself a small chuckle. "This is my way of admitting that: I'll miss you." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she smiled despite herself.

"You'll leave before Jane," she said, after a short silence.

"I'll say goodbye to her properly tomorrow."

She looked up towards him. "And how do you plan to say goodbye to me?"

Their eyes met. She felt his breath deepen in his chest. "Properly," he rumbled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:**

The town of Port Leopold is entirely fictional. I named it after Queen Victoria's 8th child because... well, why not?

Hope you all enjoy Chapter 2!

xx

 **Previously:**

Jack told Phryne he had to go away to help on a case, but Phryne suspected there was more to it than that. Jane prepared for another trip to Europe.

 **Chapter 2**

"You have to leave _today_?"

Though not biologically related to Phryne, Jane's expression was eerily similar to what Jack had seen last night.

"Don't do that," he pleaded, smiling. "It's hard enough as it is."

He had found her in the parlour, frantically reading in order to finish unread books and thus cross them off her packing list.

"Is Phryne going too?"

"No," Jack hurried to reassure her, worried she would think they would both abandon her days before she left the country. "She wants to spend the next two days with you."

"So she's coming after?"

"Not this time."

Jane looked so puzzled that Jack was almost offended.

"I do sometimes solve crimes on my own, you know."

Jane flashed him a grin. "I know. Can't be as much fun though."

Jack moved his head from side to side in faux indecision. "No," he said, capitulating with a smile. "You may be right there."

"Is it a dangerous case?" Jane looked suddenly worried. "Are you going undercover?"

"No, it's nothing like that. Just a bit sensitive."

"Sounds like you better take Phryne."

"Why, because she's so subtle?" Jack asked cheekily.

"Because she has a better gun."

Her words were light but there was a hard look in her eyes. He recognised it as her 'worst case scenario' look, something she'd never been able to shake off from her previous life.

He reached over and took her hand in his. "It's nothing for you to worry about, alright? You just concentrate on not packing up the entire house and start planning what you're going to do first in Paris." He gave a half smile. " _Oui_?"

" _Oui_ ," she smiled back.

"My French must be getting better," he replied. "I understood that!"

She barked out a laugh and a pleased smile spread over Jack's face. He stood up reluctantly.

"I better get going."

She stood up too, looking slightly mournful. "Alright."

They walked out to the hall and she watched him put on his overcoat.

"What are your plans today?" he asked her.

"Phryne and I are going to say goodbye to my mother later."

Jack met her eyes in the mirror. He knew she worried about Anna when she wasn't around. "Phryne will visit her when you're gone. Make sure she's getting your letters. Make sure she knows you're safe."

"I know. And you'll see her when you're back, won't you?"

Jack blinked. If he was honest he was having difficulty picturing life after this case. But deep down, he knew there was a chance it might be a life without this family…

"Yes," he answered, hoping that she hadn't noticed the hesitation and swallowing down his rising feelings of guilt and fear. "Of course I will. Say hello from me."

"I will."

He put his hat on and turned to face her. She had always been old beyond her years, but she still seemed far too young to spend six months in Paris. Was it possible she was younger now than the last time she went to Europe?

He realised then, how much he would miss her. Whether it was six months or…

"Come here," he said, pulling her to him. She curled into him easily.

"Make sure you do stay safe," he told the top of her head sternly.

"I will." Her voice was muffled by his jacket front, and he released her to find her smiling up at him.

"And have a good time."

She nodded, and they were still smiling at each other when Phryne emerged from the dining room. She watched them with a tender look on her face before laying a gentle hand on Jane's shoulder.

"Come on, Jane. Let's see if we can get a little packing done before we go to the home."

"Alright." Jane made for the stairs. "Bye Jack."

"Bye," Jack replied softly, watching her disappear up the staircase.

"Don't worry," Phryne whispered, watching her. "I've told her not to do anything I would do."

He laughed. "Very sensible advice."

Her hands drifted up to his tie, fiddling with the knot. Jack was sure he had just seen a near perfect example of a half Windsor in the hall mirror, but he let her continue, watching her fondly.

"You have to go _right_ now?" she said, watching her own fingers slide along the knot at his collar. She loved playing with his tie. It felt like knocking on a door between two men; on the outside, the buttoned up police detective who had been so determined to appear unaffected by her in Lydia Andrews bathroom. On the other side, if she could pull him open, the man she had got to know so much better over the last six months. Jack: passionate, uninhibited and thoroughly unbuttoned. Touching him like this made her feel that she was tracing the join between those two worlds, a boundary that only she was allowed to cross freely.

They had made love last night, and he had felt so close. He had been tender, intimate, and overwhelmingly intense. It was like… like he thought it would be the last time, she realised with a shock.

Unaware of her thought process, Jack was smiling. "I'm afraid so. I need to go and pack, and pick up some files from the Station before I head to Port Leopold."

"Port Leopold," she repeated automatically, trying to shake her ridiculous state of mind. It wasn't helped, though, by the sudden dismay on his face as he realised he had let too much slip.

"I shouldn't have told you that," he said tensely.

She forced a smile. "Don't be ridiculous. I need more than that! What if there's an emergency and we need to get hold of you?" It must be highly sensitive, she thought. If he wasn't even allowed to say where it was.

He sighed, clearly annoyed at his mistake. "The station can get in touch with me in an emergency."

"So we won't be able to talk?" She slipped her hands beneath his coat and jacket, feeling her fingertips scrape along his waistcoat.

His eyes softened. "I… I don't know. I'll telephone if I can."

She pouted softly. "See that you do."

His arms closed around her, and she tightened her grip on him, knowing that these were their last moments together. She closed her eyes, trying to pull herself together.

 _It's only for a few weeks. Are you really that dependant? Get a grip!_

But there was another voice, shrill and insistent:

 _This isn't right. *He* isn't right. There's something wrong._

His arms tightened around her, and she melted into his embrace. But there was something about his hold on her, some… desperation that made her suddenly and whole-heartedly agree with the second voice.

She pulled back, fixing him with a keen look. He immediately pasted on a poker face, but to no avail. She'd always been better at poker than him.

"You don't want to go."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You don't want to go, I can feel it."

His arms stiffened. "I told you I'm not wild about the idea. But we can't all pick and choose our cases, you know."

She ignored his jab, recognising it as an ineffectual counter attack. "This isn't just not being wild about it," she said quietly. "You don't want to go. You're worried about it."

"Phryne…"

"Exactly what kind of case is this, Jack?"

He tried to step away but she kept her hands on his torso, anchoring him to her.

"I told you. It's a murder." His eyes darted away from hers.

He really _was_ worried. And there was only one reason she could think of why Jack Robinson would be worried about taking on a case.

"Who's the victim?"

He inhaled deeply. The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched.

"Is it a child?" It had to be. Had to be similar to Lucy. A child abduction and murder. No wonder he was nervous. "Jack?"

His eyes shut briefly before he took hold of her arm, fixing her with a newly determined gaze. "I told you, I can't tell you anything about it."

"But-"

"Phryne." He gave her arm a little squeeze. "I know what you're thinking. But it's not that. I'm not worried about that."

"Then what –? "

"I just… I just can't tell you. I'm sorry. But I'll get it done as quickly as humanely possible, and then…" his eyes locked on hers, and for the first time in the conversation she felt his utter sincerity. "I'll come back and tell you all about it. I promise."

She gave a reluctant nod. "You'd better."

"I promise," he repeated softly. He brought a hand to her cheek and she shut her eyes, revelling in the feel of his rough fingers caressing up towards her ear.

"I wish I was coming with you," she whispered.

"You have to see Jane off safely," he rumbled back.

She nodded. "I do."

"Will you have fun with her? The next two days? Make sure she prefers Melbourne to Paris?"

"I will," she laughed. "I'm planning a lavish shopping trip after we've visited Anna."

Jack rolled his eyes at the recurring similarities of these two. "There are shops in Paris," he repeated.

"Yes, darling. But you need something to wear to them."

They laughed together, and he brought his lips down to press a kiss onto her forehead. "I'm going to miss you."

"So you should."

She had said it in jest, but his eyes were serious again.

"You know I love you, don't you?" he said earnestly.

She frowned, but replied instantly. "Of course. You know I love you too."

He nodded, but the air of sadness that had pervaded last night was back.

Another kiss. "I'll see you soon."

Then he was gone.

()

Phryne lay in bed, frustrated, miserable and thoroughly at a loss.

Was it only yesterday she had waved Jane off at the docks? The prospect of six more months without her was highly dispiriting. She had got used to having her home, watching her turn into a beautiful, intelligent and independent young woman. Though she took no credit for her development, Jane's presence in her life was a constant and happy reminder of a right course of action taken all those months (years!) before. As much as she made sure never to compare Jane to her sister, she couldn't deny that there was some connection, from that unhappy event to the present day. Was it lingering guilt that made her take Jane in? Phryne liked to think it was just Jane; fierce and bold, despite all the trauma in her young life; Jane herself, who stole her heart.

But maybe there was some wish for atonement there, she realised. Some need to save now where she couldn't before.

But reasoning was silly, she realised. It was the consequences that mattered. Things had worked out splendidly for her, and for Jane. And for Jack, she thought with a smile. She loved watching the two of them bond.

Reasons and consequences, she mused. She raised Jane to be an independent young woman with a taste for adventure. She could hardly be put out, therefore, when the consequence was several extended trips abroad.

Still, she thought with a sigh, it did leave her _sans_ Jane, and now she had Jack to worry about too.

She hadn't heard from him since he had left for Port Leopold. Some private investigation, however, had revealed to her that Port Leopold was a small harbour town near Adelaide. After dropping Jane off, some quiet perusal in the public library of copies of the Port Leopold Courier and Advertiser had further revealed two nasty murders that had taken place there recently. The small police force, apparently, was struggling under the weight of such events.

The victims were, as Phryne had feared, two children. Agnes Waterhouse and Clarissa Downs. Ages 10 and 12 respectively.

She had worried about him incessantly since he left, determined to try and respect his wishes but at the same time driven demented by her inability to offer support.

She wondered if his lack of willingness to speak about the case was purely down to its nature. Was he simply unable to reveal how much the prospect of investigating something so similar to the Cosgrove case was affecting him?

But she dismissed the thought quickly. They had gone past that now, he knew he could speak freely to her, without any fear of judgement or pity. They were so strict with each other about that. He couldn't have lied; would never had lied, when he said that wasn't what was worrying him.

It was political, she supposed, this 'sensitivity' which meant he couldn't speak. How annoying politics were!

His hands were tied, that's what he had said. Alright, _he_ couldn't involve her in the case. But, she supposed, that didn't necessarily mean she couldn't involve herself.

After all, if she surprised him in Port Leopold, it was hardly his fault. And if she happened to stumble over the solution to the case, while she was there, that was hardly anyone's fault either.

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He really had seemed as if he was going to miss her when he took his leave two days ago. And she couldn't deny it; she missed him too.

And if this was a difficult case for him (and it was bound to be, even if he didn't think so now), how much better that she should be there, in situ, ready to lend support where she could? Much better than lying here uselessly, help to no one.

She jumped from bed, feeling a smile grow across her face at the prospect of seeing him so soon.

There was so much to prepare!


	3. Chapter 3

Previously: Jack left for Port Leopold to investigate a mystery case, and Phryne made the decision to surprise him...

 **Chapter 3**

The morgue in Port Leopold seemed colder than the one in Melbourne, and the Coroner decidedly less friendly than Mac.

"…. But other than that no discernible injuries."

Jack swallowed, looking down at the girls pale face. He had been worried he would see other faces, but it was only Agnes Waterhouse he saw, a child frozen in time.

"How long had she been dead?" he asked, pleased to hear his voice remain steady.

"Less than an hour," the Coroner replied. "She was beside a bus stop?"

"Yes. The murderer was disturbed."

"Did anyone see anything?"

Jack shook his head, deep in thought.

"D.I. March said you wanted to see what was found beside her?"

"Ah… yes." Jack reached out to receive the object from the Coroner. He stared at it for a moment.

The Coroner eyed him carefully. "You've seen something like that before?"

Jack swallowed, closing his eyes briefly. "Yes. Yes, I'm afraid I have."

()

Phryne hadn't expected The Windsor, but the hotel the Port Leopold police force had sequestered Jack in was decidedly grubby. It was more like a hostel, she thought, as she impatiently pressed the call button of a tiny and dilapidated elevator. When it arrived, and its doors creaked open to reveal a flickering lamp and a whole host of unhealthy noises, she decided she would be better off taking the stairs.

It was a good job she had already checked into the Regency, she thought, as she ascended the unlit stairwell. Her palatial suite there was much more her style. She would persuade Jack to join her there; the large bathtub and sumptuous bed had already suggested several possibilities that she thought might make him amenable. Still, it had been easy to coax the tired looking Receptionist into revealing Jack's room number, so that was something. Almost as easy as getting Hugh to inadvertently reveal the name of the hotel! She smiled at the memory, hoping Jack wouldn't be too hard on him.

He shouldn't be, if the reunion she had imagined for them went as planned!

She arrived on the second floor and made her way along the narrow corridor until she found his room number. He would likely be out, working, but she knocked just in case.

No answer. Smirking slightly, she pulled her trusty lock picks from her garter and knelt to work the lock. Within moments, the door clicked open, and she rose to her feet in triumph.

The room she revealed when the pushed the door open was much as she expected. Tired, cheap looking furnishings, and drab bedclothes. But at least it seemed clean. She knew Jack could rough it with the best of them, but he would put his foot down at actual dirt.

She began a circuit of the room, enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by Jack's things, noting how much they reminded her of his absence from her life. It had only been a few days, and she had missed him dreadfully.

There was no wardrobe, just an open rail on which his suits and shirts hung neatly. She ran her hand over them, wishing she could feel his warmth beneath them. She smiled when her eyes landed on his bedside table. She could have picked the contents anywhere as belonging to the man she was sharing her life with. A well-thumbed Zane Grey, place neatly marked with a leather bookmark. A travel clock, the alarm set to a ludicrously early hour. A small frame which usually sat at his bedside in his home in Melbourne – the photograph inside was a copy he had requested from her; a portrait from the House de Fleuri fashion show. She ran her fingers over it, her insides feeling pleasantly warm at the thought of him looking at it as he fell asleep each night.

There was a small desk in the corner of the room, and she went to it, her fingers hovering over the files there. She hesitated, wondering if she shouldn't look. Jack had been so adamant that he couldn't tell her about the case.

But if, as she suspected, that was because this case was similar to the Cosgrove case, it would be better for her to be forewarned. She had come here to support him after all.

She was debating it in her mind when she noticed one file, under another one, the top corner just sticking out. There was a name on it.

 _Murdoch Foyle._

Her breath left her body, and she froze. What was Jack doing with a file with Murdoch's Foyle name on it? She grabbed desperately at the file and began to flick through it.

It was all here. Photographs of the victims, including Teresa Cavalli laid out in that church. Statements from witnesses. She recognised the words of Myrtle Hill, and then, with a jolt, her own. It was the statement Jack had taken from her the night of her birthday party. She shook her head. Why was all this here?

Then, there it was. The police sketch of Janey. Her fingers became numb and the file slipped from her fingers, leaving her holding the only existing image of her sister. Her hands began to tremble. Why did Jack have this? She had known this file must exist somewhere, she supposed, but in her mind she had consigned it to some dark recess under the police station, buried deep within a filing cabinet. Case solved. Why had Jack looked it out and brought it with him to Port Leopold?

Still holding Janey's portrait, she opened the second file. More crime scene photographs, but these were unfamiliar to her. Two girls, both clearly dead, in separate but similar circumstances. She scanned the notes urgently. The murders had occurred recently, here in Port Leopold. The post mortem result of one of the girls was here. A mention of sedation made Phryne draw in her breath quickly. It was the same paralysis drug Foyle had used on his victims.

There was another photograph, a clue found at a crime scene. Phryne felt her mind flash back to that dank cellar, her hand clutched around a gold goblet, reluctantly drinking… the photograph here was of a gold goblet.

She stood, frozen in shock, the picture of Janey in one hand, and the photograph of the goblet in the other. What was going on? Why hadn't Jack told her? The fear that had gripped her at seeing Foyle's name had gone, replaced by a building white hot anger. A kaleidoscope of images hit her; Jane in her Red Riding hood outfit, the photograph stuck into the door, the broken tea cups on the kitchen floor. Jack, trying to calm her, and when that didn't work, locking her in that cell. Jack, carrying her useless and lifeless body away from danger. Jack, taking her hand when they found Janey's grave. All the things they had been through on that case, and here it was happening again, and he hadn't told her. They had obviously asked for his help, or he had realised the connection and… he hadn't told her!

It only seemed unforgivable, but then she shook herself and realised she was missing the point. The case file had drawn her back to that time, but really, it was a lifetime ago. They had been through so much together _since_ then! Her extended stay overseas, her return, the hell of the Cosgrove case. And then, of course, the joy and relief of finding each other, of finding a way to be together. Love that she thought she had never known before, could never even have imagine before and all of it, _all of it_ , built on honesty. Everything that had ever come close to tearing them apart was because they hadn't been honest with each other. It was their one rule. Help, don't hide.

And yet she was holding proof in her hands that he had broken the one thing that held them together.

It wasn't just unforgiveable, that he had hidden this from her. It was… impossible.

There was no time to try to understand, but really, she didn't want to. The anger she felt was blinding and completely debilitating. It was all she could do to remain upright, and when the door clicked open again, all she could do to wheel round without collapsing. Her eyes were sparkling with tears as she faced the figure in the overcoat.

There was a split second, just a split second, where a look of pure joy passed over Jack's face, but Phryne didn't see it. It had faded instantly into a creased look of concern as he saw the expression on her face.

"Phryne, what…?" His eyes dropped and took in the picture of Janey. Realisation hit him, and his body seemed to sag.

"What is this, Jack?" Phryne's voice was quiet, but ragged, as she tried to hold back her tears.

He took a step forward, but stopped when he noticed her tense up, bracing herself.

"Phryne…"

She looked back towards the files, and Jack was gripped with the urge to place himself between her and them.

"You weren't meant to see those…" he said instead.

It was the wrong thing to say. Phryne's head snapped round and her eyes flashed angrily. "I wasn't meant to see them?" she spat.

"Please –" Jack reached out for the pictures, but she snatched them away.

"It's my sister!" Her voice was bitter. She held the pictures to her breast, protecting them.

"Phryne…"

"Why do you have these? What's going on?"

Her eyes looked at him desperately, searchingly. Jack felt utterly helpless. He had known this could happen, that Hugh Collins and a sub-standard hotel lock were no protection against Phryne's curiosity. All along, he had known he was taking a risk by keeping this from her; more than that, it was wrong to even try. How had he thought this was going to end?

When the Deputy Commissioner had brought him the story of two young girls who had gone missing and were later found dead in abandoned buildings, his first reaction had been a frozen terror. Here it was again. Just like Lucy. But then he handed Jack the case files, and as he read, the details emerged. The unusual paralysis drug. The gold Egyptian goblet found at one of the scenes. The birthday the two girls shared; 21st December. The Deputy Commissioner had recognised the details immediately and brought it straight to Jack.

Was it possible that Murdoch Foyle had an associate? A fan? In Port Leopold?

As soon as he had held the goblet in his hands at the morgue, the terror he had felt transferred itself instantly on to Phryne. She couldn't know. She couldn't be involved.

He had only wanted to protect her. But now here she was, desperate and in pain, clutching the very things to her that Jack had tried to hide.

He knew they couldn't talk like this. "Phryne. Just calm down, please."

"Tell me!" she shouted.

He stepped back slightly, reeling from the volume. "There is a case here in Port Leopold," he explained, trying to get it out as succinctly as possible. "With similarities to Foyle. I was called in to help."

"Similarities," she breathed incredulously. "It's exactly the same."

"It's not, Phryne."

"You have his file!"

"I know, but -"

She shook her head angrily. "How could you not tell me about this?"

"I didn't want you involved," he answered honestly.

She gave a humourless laugh. "How can I not be involved?"

"Because you don't have to be!" Jack realised he was shouting too, and he tried to lower his voice. "This case isn't about you. I wanted to keep it that way."

"That wasn't your decision to make, Jack!"

He closed his eyes at her address. This was no soft purr, or teasing snap of his name. She had thrown it out derisively, like it meant nothing to her.

"Phryne, please try and understand."

He could feel the panic rising. His two biggest fears; that this case would pull her back into the emotional trauma surrounding her history with Foyle, or worse, that she would physically put herself in danger again, were at serious risk of coming true. She was determined to get involved. Last time, he had done everything he could to keep her out of danger, to no avail. Even locking her up hadn't worked. But deep down, he knew she could never have been kept out of it. That case had revolved around her; Foyle and her family's history were inextricably linked. She had to be the one to end it, he understood that. But this new case wasn't about her; it had nothing to do with her. Not yet anyway. In dark moments of contemplation, he had imagined her involvement leading to, at best, a violent emotional trigger (God knew he knew enough about _those_ , now) and at worst, her becoming a target for this new murderer. And as the investigating officer, he had a duty of care to protect her. Unfortunately, as her partner, he knew the only sure way to do that was to keep the case a secret.

"If I'd told you, you would have insisted on becoming involved," he tried to reason.

"I could have helped!"

He had thought about this. But… "I know as much about Foyle's crimes as you do, there was no point in putting you in danger – "

"No point?" She cut him off with a cry. "Jack! –"

This time, his name was a plea, and it almost broke him. "Please, Phryne. Don't get involved in this." At this moment, that was more important than her hating him.

She looked at him in disbelief. "How dare you? You lie to me, and then you think you still have the right to tell me what to do?!" Her voice had risen uncontrollably.

His eyes fluttered shut. Any control he thought he had gained of this situation by hiding it was rapidly slipping away. "I know I don't, and I'm not telling you what to do. But please–"

"Don't you understand what you've done?" She was very angry now. "You've ruined everything, Jack!"

There was a silence as they both stared desperately at each other, willing the other to understand. Suddenly the enormity of it hit Phryne. Her biggest fear had arisen again. And the one man she thought she could rely on had let her down. She felt a sob break, and she put a hand to her mouth to stifle it.

He tried to pull her to him, his heart breaking at her tears. "Come here…"

"No!" She pulled away from him, and he took a step back, stunned into silence. She wiped her eyes angrily. "Stop. Stop trying to fix it. You can't."

"Phryne…" he pleaded.

She made for the door, and he tried to appeal her once more. "Don't walk out, Phryne. Not like this. We need to talk about this."

She swallowed, and her voice was more controlled, but when she looked back at him, her expression was emotionless. "We should have talked about it before you came here, Jack." She looked down at the picture still clasped in her hand. "She was my sister," she said, softly.

"Phyrne…."

But she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks for all the comments and favourites - I hope everyone is enjoying the story! Please continue to let me know what you think as it's awesome encouragement!

A slightly longer chapter today in recompense for probably not much action over the next couple of days.

 **Previously:** Phryne arrived in Port Leopold and found out the truth about Jack's secret case.

 **Chapter 4**

Two hours later, Jack walked through the grand entrance of the Regency hotel.

He had slumped into a chair when Phryne had left. The fight had been by far the worst they'd ever had, and the part of his mind that hadn't been frozen by dumb shock was full of self-recrimination. It had been more than an hour before he had been able to pull himself together and steel himself for a long and difficult telephone conversation with Mrs. Collins.

Dot had initially been reluctant to give out details of Miss Fisher's accommodation in Port Leopold without her express permission, especially when Jack admitted there had been an argument and that Phryne had stormed out on him. But when he went further and told her about the case he was working on, she agreed that her mistress needed to be found, and soon.

The reception area was large and elegant, luxurious but not overstated. There were several sharp suited staff members behind a long polished reception desk, and he was about to go and enquire with them when he noticed a gilded sign pointing towards a bar and restaurant. Changing tack, he followed it.

He walked into a large restaurant area with an impressive central bar. A wide array of bottles glittered and gleamed from the central island, around which bow-tied waiters moved quickly, mixing and pouring drinks with practised skill and efficiency. At first he couldn't see anyone actually sat around the bar – most guests were dining – but as he peered around the far side, he spied a solitary figure sat up against it, nursing an almost empty glass of amber liquid. Her head was leaning heavily on her hand, and she was steadfastly and uncharacteristically ignoring any attempt to be drawn into conversation with the young and attractive bar staff.

He shut his eyes, momentarily chiding himself. He should have got here sooner – he could tell even from a distance that she'd had far too much to drink – and most likely on an empty stomach as well. Phryne liked to give the impression that she could hold her drink, but actually her apparent high tolerance to alcohol was more down to careful self-control than the strength of her system. She was petite, and slender, and far too liable to become distracted by the delights of a good night out to remember to eat properly. But she hated getting drunk, and so, with only a few wild exceptions, she monitored her own consumption carefully. It was one of the only areas, really, where her self-control was better than his. Not that he was prone to over-consumption on a night out either; he was drawn to the bottle by despondency rather than festivity, far too apt to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a glass. It was something he had had to watch, since the Cosgrove case; the temptation to reach for the alcohol when things got bad. Phryne had encouraged him to talk instead, to seek _her_ out for comfort and to save the whiskey for happier occasions.

But now, it seemed like she had taken a leaf out of _his_ book for a change. And really, he should take a leaf out of hers; talk to her, be _her_ comfort, soothe _her_ unhappiness.

Except he was the reason for it.

Unable to do anything else, he went to her. Her eyes, already tired and bloodshot, hardened when she saw him.

"I don't want to talk to you."

The execution of the words left something to be desired, but her meaning was crystal clear. Still, Jack stood close to her, leaning back against the bar and facing her calmly.

"Phryne."

She shifted a little on the stool, resenting his intrusion into her personal space. In doing so, she teetered, and Jack grabbed her arm, afraid she was about to take a tumble.

"Leave me alone!" she snapped, loud enough to attract the attention of one of the waiters, who approached them, eyeing Jack suspiciously.

"Is everything alright, Miss?"

Phryne nodded and downed the rest of her drink. "Another," she said, returning the empty glass to the bar with a thud.

"Phryne…" Jack said warningly, but shut his mouth when he received a sharp look from her.

Another whiskey was delivered and she cradled it in both hands. Her bottom lip trembled and Jack felt a sharp tug in his chest. He'd never seen her like this before. If he could just stay with her, keep her from doing herself too much damage, even while she hated him, he'd be happy. Wary of saying anything that would cause her to have him thrown out of the hotel, he kept quiet, watching her through soulful eyes.

His silence seemed to bother her. Her eyes flickered up at him, showing him troubled and watery pools of blue. She took a drink.

"How could you not have told me?" Her words were deliberately slow, her voice raspy.

He knew he didn't have an answer that wouldn't send her into a rage, so all he could give her was the truth.

"I didn't want you to go through this again. I wanted to protect you from it."

He absorbed her expression of equal parts derision and disgust with equanimity. He fully expected what happened next.

"I don't need you to protect me!" she spat. In frustration, she pushed at the bar, leaning dangerously far back but failing to notice Jack's hand hovering carefully behind her back. "What right do you have….?!"

He knew better to repeat his argument from earlier, aware that it was probably the reason they were now in this situation. But he could see it running through her head, see her anger building without him even saying anything.

"I'm sorry, Phryne."

He meant it, too. He had been aware, all throughout this, that on some level he was betraying her, but the full force of the fact had hit him hard in the two hours since their fight. As much as he told himself he was keeping her from reliving the horrors of Murdoch Foyle's crimes, that he was protecting her, he had always known she would react badly if she found out he was wilfully flouting the very basis of their partnership. _Help, don't hide_. It was the foundation their relationship was built on, the reason they were able to be together. It was the only way it could work.

The thought that he had gone so wildly off course had terrified him, especially when she had shouted at him that he had ruined everything, and that they could never be fixed. But he was calmer now, and determined to prove her wrong. He knew too, that a large part of her reaction was down to the shock of Murdoch Foyle posthumously rearing his head.

Not that he was absolving himself. He had taken a wrong step, but it had come from a good place. He had kept it from her, but only in the way that you can't _not_ step between a bullet and someone you love. He had acted on instinct, protective of her survival and her sanity. It hadn't been the right decision. All he could hope (and he did hope, because he no longer feared, like he once did, that their relationship would fall apart with every argument) was for her forgiveness and understanding. But that, he knew would take a clear head.

It wouldn't be forthcoming tonight.

Deciding to save a more loquacious apology for another time, Jack kept it simple. "I made the wrong decision about your involvement," he continued. "I'm sorry."

She looked almost startled at his capitulation, but her anger quickly returned as she held a finger up, threateningly. "I want you to tell me everything," she said, her jaw tight.

"I will," he promised. And then, when she looked at him expectantly: "…tomorrow".

Her eyes returned to her glass. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

It was a dismissal, but the coolness in her voice wasn't matched by expression. As she returned the glass to the bar, Jack noticed her hand was shaking.

She was scared.

That thought hurt him more than anything else, and prompted him to, perhaps unwisely, grab her hand.

She pulled it back violently, an action that did not go unnoticed by the attentive waiter.

"Is this man bothering you, Miss?"

"Yes!" she snapped, her eyes still fixed angrily on Jack.

"Phryne!" Jack looked at her, willing her to see sense. The fear he had just glimpsed in her had convinced him he was not willingly going anywhere tonight, and he'd rather not be arrested for brawling with a waiter in the bar of the most exclusive hotel in town. But, if she really hated him that much…

"Do you really want me to go?" he asked quietly.

She swallowed, and shook her head silently.

"We're fine," Jack assured the waiter, and the young man, persuaded by Phryne's silence, nodded.

Phryne had dropped her forehead into her hands and was breathing heavily. It was, Jack recognised, the action of the very drunk.

"I think we should get you to your room," he said, his arms starting to go round her. She shrugged him off and he took a deep breath.

"Phryne. Please."

She looked up at him, bleary eyed. "Tomorrow…." She said, her words swimming. "You tell me… I want… tell me everything."

"I will. Just, please…"

He put his hand out, and she grasped it, allowing her to help her off the stool. He manoeuvred her through the restaurant, one arm around her back whilst he held on to her nearest arm at the elbow. Keeping her upright was a struggle, but he managed to get them into the lift lobby without too many curious looks. Once in the lift, she allowed him to open her little bag, retrieve her room key and take them up to the correct floor.

He kept one arm around her waist as he unlocked the door, bracing his leg against her weight as she lolled against him.

"Come on," he said softly.

All the way up she had been murmuring little scraps of indignation at him, and their journey had been punctuated with huffs and groans and snippets of "no right" and "how dare you" and "lying to me" that he had manfully tried to ignore.

Now in the room, she seemed less restrained, and pushed herself away from him again with renewed determination. "… can't believe…." she snapped, almost to herself.

He took a deep breath. She meant, he supposed, that she couldn't believe he could keep something like this from her. He stepped back and gave her some space as she put her hands to her forehead again, muttering wildly.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He didn't know what else to say.

She looked at him, momentarily confused, before seeming to ignore him and make for the large bed. He stepped aside to let her crawl onto to it, but as she made to get under the covers, he reached out to her.

"Hang on. Come here."

She allowed him to take off her long day coat, leaving her in a camisole and her high-waist trousers, comfortable enough, he thought, for her to sleep in. Noting her dangly earrings, he gently removed them too, placing them carefully on the bedside table. Then he pulled off her high heels, tucking her legs under the covers.

He went to fetch a glass of water, and when he returned, she was sitting up in bed, her knees pulled tightly to herself.

"I can't believe this…"

It was so faint he almost didn't hear it, and convinced she was simply voicing her continued anger at him, he pretended he hadn't.

"Here," he said, sitting beside her and helping her to take a large gulp. She blinked several times and her eyes fixed on a distant point.

"I can't believe this is happening again."

Oh.

Jack returned the glass to the bedside table and moved from the bed to kneel in front of her.

"Phryne." He put his hands over hers where they were clasped around her legs. "This is a different case. This isn't Foyle."

Her eyes found his, and she shook her head, her lip trembling. The tears that had been threatening all evening finally fell. "Murdoch Foyle…" she said.

He tightened his grip on her hands. "Murdoch Foyle is dead, Phryne."

She let out a long breath and looked at him almost pityingly.

"That's what you said last time."

He reeled, and she rolled away, leaving him speechless and with a dead weight in his stomach.

()

A noise woke him, and he struggled briefly with his surroundings. Where was he? It was only when Phryne staggered past him that he remembered putting her to bed and taking up his position in a nearby armchair. He sat up stiffly, dragging his aching muscles into action as he heard her clatter through the door into another room.

"Phryne?"

The only answer was the unmistakable sound of retching. Jack shut his eyes. Poor Phryne. Her past had come back to haunt her, she was angry at him and now she was experiencing the mother of all hangovers. She hated feeling sick and incapable at the best of times, and this was assuredly _not_ the best of times.

It was better to risk her wrath and be of help than leave her to her own devices, so he steeled himself and pushed open the door to the bathroom. She was bent over the lavatory, a night's worth of expensive whiskey leaving her at speed. Between coughs and splutters, he could hear her sobbing heavily. Her hair was in front of her face, right in the firing line, so Jack knelt behind her and swept it back, using one hand to hold it in a clump at the back of her head and the other to rub her back.

"It's alright…"

She groaned, and slumped back towards him, trembling. Putting one arm around her shoulder, Jack quickly flushed the lavatory and handed her some tissues. He settled her on the floor and stood.

"I'll get your water."

When he returned, she hadn't moved. Her knees were curled underneath her, and her head was hanging forward, her body shaking slightly with small sobs and tremors.

"Here." He helped her take a drink, and then settled with his arm around her, letting her lean into him.

Her voice, when she spoke, was small and shaky. "I'm still angry with you."

"I know." He dropped a soft kiss on the top of her head.

They sat there for a few more minutes, until her shaking became too violent to ignore.

"You're freezing. Come on. Let's get you back into bed."

She allowed him to help her off the floor and back into the bedroom. Once there, she crawled up onto the bed wordlessly.

"Do you want pyjamas?" he asked.

She nodded, and he went to look in her luggage. Reaching inside, he found a set of red satin sleeveless pyjamas; his personal favourites. Remembering she had initially intended to surprise him on this trip, he felt a pang at how things had turned out. He fingered the satin guiltily. They weren't substantial enough to keep her really warm, but they would have to do.

She had managed to pull off her trousers and camisole, and he swapped them for the pyjamas. Once she had managed to bundle herself into them, (shrugging off any assistance, because the small, vulnerable woman on the bathroom floor had been replaced now by her angrily independent counterpart) she collapsed back onto the mattress and fell into a dead sleep.

Jack made sure she was sleeping comfortably on her front, and then settled back into his chair. He knew he shouldn't go back to sleep with her like this, so he sat up straight and rubbed his eyes roughly. He was in for a long night.

()

About two hours later, (according to his watch it was just after 4 in the morning), she shifted again, turning round to look at him with a confused and pained look on her face.

"Are you alright?" he said softly, worried she was going to be sick again.

"…What are you doing there?" she asked, her voice like gravel.

"There's water on the side," he said, ignoring her question.

She reached out and grabbed the glass, drinking like someone who had been lost in the desert for days. She replaced it on the table with a bump, and groaned heavily.

"… I feel awful," she admitted.

At least she was speaking to him. "I'm sorry," he sympathised.

She sat up and rubbed her face. "It's not your fault." She gave a mirthless laugh. "Well. That's not entirely true."

"Phryne…"

"Jack, let's not talk now… come to bed."

The temptation to climb in with her under the covers was overwhelming, but Jack shook his head. "I'm fine here."

The frown already on her face deepened. "You're not fine. How are you supposed to be fit enough to solve this case if you spend the night in a chair?"

He sighed. "We had a fight. You're angry with me – "

"I hadn't forgotten," she replied dully.

"-and you shouldn't feel duty bound to share a bed with me. Not like this."

Her shoulders softened. "Jack..." she spread a hand towards him across the bedspread. "I was very angry last night. And I got into a disgusting state. Yes, I'm unhappy about what's happened and we have things to discuss. But we'll do that tomorrow. In the meantime, I still love you. That doesn't change."

His heart lifted at hearing her words but he was still hesitant. He couldn't get what she had said last night out of his head.

 _"That's what you said last time."_

Did she blame him for not believing in her instincts all those months ago? Did she _remember_ blaming him? How could she possibly love him, if…?

Familiar feelings of guilt and self-loathing began to bubble up in his chest and he smothered them down quickly. He wasn't going there again, not when she needed him.

"Please…" Phryne said softly, and he put his doubt to one side. He nodded and stood up, peeling his outer of layers of clothes off and climbing beneath the sheets in his shorts and singlet.

He felt his body relax as he melted into the soft mattress, but his mind was still racing. They lay side by side, staring at the ceiling, unwilling to speak. It wasn't till her hand found his between them that he finally allowed his eyes to close and drifted into a deep sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Previously:** In the aftermath of their fight, Jack took care of a drunk and angry Phryne.

 **Chapter 5**

The next time Phryne blinked awake, the room was filled with harsh morning light and Jack was gone. She sat up and scanned the room, wincing at the brightness until she noticed a note on the pillow next to hers. She picked it up and saw a few lines of familiar, untidy writing scrawled across it.

 _Phryne,_

 _The investigation team were expecting me early at the station. It's in the centre of town, on Church Street. If you want to come and meet me for lunch I'll introduce you to everyone and fill you in on the case._

 _I hope you're feeling better. We'll talk later, but – I am sorry, for everything._

 _Love,_

 _Jack_

Phryne sighed and looked at the clock. 10 am. She could easily do with another couple of hours sleep but she couldn't afford it, and truth be told she didn't really think she deserved it. No matter how angry she had been yesterday, no matter how justified, she shouldn't have let herself get into such a state. Especially not with a case like this. Not only that, but she had let herself get paralytic, virtually unable to walk, and all in a strange town where she had few friends. She was torn between being pitifully grateful for Jack's presence and being angry with him for being the cause of it all.

Well, no that wasn't fair. He didn't cause this. But he should have told her. She shook her head again in disbelief as she considered it. A case involving Foyle – even posthumously – and he didn't tell her! She looked down at his pillow as if it could give her answers, pulling it to her as she considered. As it moved, she caught his scent. She breathed it in, finding the smell strangely comforting even as her anger at him bubbled away.

How was it that you could be so angry with someone and yet know, quite certainly, that you would always love them? It was, she realised with a shock, a feeling that her own mother would almost certainly identify with. Henry Fisher was a gambler, a rogue, unfaithful and completely unreliable. But whatever he did, and how ever many times Margaret vowed she would never have him back in the house, they would be drawn back together like magnets, each swearing that there was no other choice.

Some would call it loyalty. Phryne, as much as she loved her mother, preferred to think of it as wilful stupidity. _"My mother lost all reason when she was waltzed,"_ Phryne had once told Jack. She had experienced that abandonment once; love without reason. It had been a disaster from which she had been lucky to escape with her life. She had sworn it would never happen to her again. But maybe she was kidding herself, she thought, as she hugged Jack's pillow. Maybe she was without reason now. After all, she already knew, deep down, that despite all the bluster, and the shouting, and the drinking; she would forgive Jack for this.

And Jack had waltzed _her_ once too.

But Jack wasn't Henry Fisher, she reasoned. Still less was he Rene. He was her Jack; kind, generous, responsible, considerate. A man who had been to hell and back, not once but twice, and had emerged to tell the tale, and further than that, had regained the strength to be the other half of a partnership that was dearer to her than anything. The last six months had been, without question, the best of her life.

He wasn't perfect. This proved that. But neither was she, and he loved her anyway. Loved her flaws as much as any other part of her, the way she would tenderly kiss his war scars when they made love. They had been through so much together, she realised. They would get through this too.

She read his note again. He certainly sounded like he was willing to make up for his mistake and involve her completely, just as she had asked.

There was no point in waiting. Ignoring the pounding at her temples, and the slight queasiness in her stomach, she got up and got ready for the day.

()

"We've searched the files, Sir. There don't appear to be any other historic missing person cases that fit the criteria."

"Good." Jack nodded gratefully to the constable who had delivered the message. He had suspected these crimes were purely recent, but he had to check. After all, it wasn't until Collins and he had taken a wider look at the disappearances in Melbourne that the pattern had started to fall into place. He had wondered if there was some historical connection to Foyle in this town, if Port Leopold could have been an old hunting ground. But there was nothing.

"I think you're right then," D.I. March said seriously. "A copycat."

"That would be my judgement, Inspector."

Jack liked March. It would have been easy for him to take offence at this Melbourne copper coming onto his patch and telling him how to do his job – he wasn't sure _he_ would like it – but March seemed grateful for the help. It didn't hurt that he seemed to have an open and honest relationship with his Deputy Commissioner (of which Jack was more than a little envious) and had listened carefully as his senior officer had explained the link between the Melbourne and Port Leopold cases and how D.I. Robinson might be able to help.

It wasn't as if March was inexperienced. After 40 years on the job, he'd seen plenty of odd cases. Plenty of which he'd regaled Jack with over a whiskey on his first night here. But this one was more than a little odd, and he welcomed any help or possible expertise.

Which was a good thing, Jack thought wryly, given the nature of the expert he was about to bring on board.

March was smoothing his salt and pepper moustache, a sign, Jack had learnt, that the older detective was deep in thought.

"In that case we need to think about where the information came from," he said slowly. "How much of this was in the papers at the time?"

"Not everything," Jack replied. "But we need to be sure. I'm having my constable send up all the articles from Melbourne. I should have brought them with me, but there was a lot of coverage and I left in something of a hurry."

"Better for us," March replied generously, and Jack acknowledged the compliment with an embarrassed nod.

The constable who had been searching through the casefiles was back. "Inspector Robinson? You have a visitor at the front desk. A Miss Fisher?"

Jack looked round in surprise. After last night, he hadn't expected to see her any time before noon. "Ah… thank you, Constable. I'll be right there."

"Didn't know you knew anyone in Port Leopold, Jack?" March had taken to using his first name, and Jack didn't object, though he preferred to stick to the formalities himself.

"I don't." Jack paused, unsure of how to explain. "My visitor is from Melbourne, it's… it's in relation to the case."

"Oh! Well, bring her in!"

"If you don't mind, Inspector, I'll go out and see her myself first, it's a little…" March frowned and Jack felt his ears redden as he tried to elucidate. "I was initially reluctant to involve her in this, but she's… well, she's rather determined."

"I see." March idly wondered if this Miss Fisher was a red head. His own wife was a red head. He found it hard to say no to her too. "And you think she'll be useful?"

"Invaluable," the younger man replied quickly.

"Well." March nodded. "We need all the help we can get. You handle it however you think best."

"Thank you, Inspector." Jack exited, walking quickly down the short corridor into the small reception area.

Phryne was standing by a noticeboard displaying wanted criminals, perusing the photographs from behind her large round sunglasses. Given that the room was not particularly bright, Jack guessed she was still feeling the effects of the whiskey. Despite this, she was immaculately dressed in a deep blue Japanese style dress, black buttons running all the way up her front and across one shoulder. Jack had never seen the dress before, and he felt another pang of guilt as he pictured her wardrobe shopping for her surprise trip to Port Leopold.

"Phryne?"

She turned to him and gave him a soft smile, but with those glasses on he couldn't tell whether it reached her eyes.

"Good morning."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better than I did last night, anyway." Her mouth curved upwards and he smiled back.

"I didn't expect you till later."

She shrugged. "I didn't want to waste the day. Are you in the middle of something?"

Jack knew it was in his best interests (professionally _and_ personally) to get her fully involved as soon as possible. "No, it's alright. Have you eaten?"

The light green colour her face went as she shook her head told him that she didn't think much of that idea.

"Well, let's go out and get some coffee or something? I can get you up to speed."

She nodded. "That would be good," she said softly, and he could hear in her voice that she understood that he was trying to remedy his mistake.

Outside, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her down the street. Whether it was for companionship or physical support Jack couldn't quite be sure, but in truth he didn't much care. It was nice just to feel her.

"I didn't get a chance to say…" he said, as they walked slowly. "I've missed you, these last few days."

Phryne looked at the ground and her reply was somewhat sullen. "It's not my fault you didn't get a chance to say."

"I know that."

"Well, I missed you as well," she said peevishly.

"You did?" His heart lifted a little.

"Don't ask me how much," she warned. "I haven't made my mind up yet."

"Fair enough." Jack peered in the windows of several tea establishments, seeming to disregard a few before pulling her in to a rather dark café.

She regarded him suspiciously as they were seated. "Why here?"

"You don't like it?"

She looked around. The café was clean, if a little gloomy. There seemed to be a fairly nice collection of cakes on the counter, none of which could tempt her at this precise moment. "It's perfectly fine. You seemed rather set on it, that's all."

Jack coughed awkwardly. "I wanted somewhere dim enough for you to be able to take your sunglasses off. I can't read your face with those damn things on."

Phryne was still for a moment. Then, with a wry smile, she pulled the glasses off and placed them on the table.

"And what can you read in my face now, Jack?" she challenged.

Jack scrutinised her. He was silent until a waiter approached, and then without removing his gaze from her face, said:

"We're going to need a lot of coffee."

Phryne laughed despite herself. "Well read," she congratulated as the waiter moved away. "What else?"

"Anger."

"That, certainly."

"Maybe a touch of disappointment?"

There was a silence as she looked at him, sadness sweeping over her face. "Maybe."

"Betrayal?"

Another silence. "Jack…"

"I know, Phryne. And I know I'm the reason for all of it."

She gave a ragged sigh. In a sense, it was what she had wanted to hear, and yet there was something fatalistic in his tone that she didn't like. "Don't do that, Jack."

"What?" he asked, confused.

"I'm not looking for you to take the blame for all the world's ills. Don't make everything as black and white as that."

"I'm just trying to apologise." Jack looked hurt.

"So apologise!" Phryne said, quickly.

"I was trying to do it better than that," Jack replied impatiently.

"I don't need a 50 page long _mea culpa_ , Jack! I understand why you did it. I understand you were trying to protect me. I just don't agree with it, that's all."

"I know."

"Help don't hide, remember?"

Jack nodded. He took a deep breath. "I know. I really am sorry, Phryne. I panicked. The moment I heard Foyle's name I wanted to keep you away from it. I knew the effect it would have on you and I just…" Jack's voice tailed off as he looked at her seriously. "But I should have told you. I made the wrong decision."

She acknowledged his apology with a nod, but then added: "But for the right reasons. So don't forget that either. There's only one monster in this, and it's not you."

Jack took her hand and they rubbed thumbs over knuckles for a few breaths. Then, closing his eyes, Jack said. "It's not Foyle either."

She started and went to pull back her hand, but Jack kept it securely in his larger one.

"I know," she said shakily. "I know."

He nodded, but the memory of what she had said last night was still fresh. He wasn't sure he believed her.

The coffee came, and they drank in silence for a few minutes.

At length, Jack began again. "Phyrne… last night…"

She looked up at him. "What about it?"

The words were hovering on his lips. To ask her if she blamed him. Ask if she really believed Foyle was back. Ask if she was scared. But he was sure her response to any of those questions would take them straight back into an argument, so he shook his head. "Nothing."

 _Coward_ , he thought.

Phryne watched him hide from her and wondered if she should call him on it. But she pushed it to one side for the moment.

"You should be getting me up to speed," she reminded him.

"Right." Jack seemed to pull himself together, setting down his coffee cup. His face fell into the frown he wore when he was considering a case. She had adored that look, had done from the start, but she forced her eyes down to the tablecloth, cursing herself and him for somehow, not being quite sorted yet.

It would have to wait.

He launched into an explanation of the case; the two girls who had been found. He watched her carefully as he described their injuries, knowing it would bring up painful memories of Janey. She flinched, but nodded along, and he knew she was forcing herself to focus on the facts of the case.

"Have you come across anyone here who was connected with the case?"

"No," Jack said. "I can't find anyone with any connection. I looked for historic cases as well, to see if there was any link previously, but there was nothing."

"Was the Melbourne case reported here?"

"Yes. I'm having Collins send up some articles so that I can go through them and compare what was generally known here. If the copycat has only used details from the Port Leopold or even Adelaide papers then it will confirm they are local, and most likely, have no connection to the case in Melbourne."

"A fan, then," Phryne said, her nose wrinkling with disgust.

"As horrible as that seems, yes."

There was a pause. Then Phryne said: "we."

"Pardon?"

"You said "I can go through the papers." You meant "we.""

"Yes." Jack reached across the table for her hand. "I meant "we.""

"I want to be involved, Jack." Her voice was firm.

"I've already cleared it with the D.I. here," Jack reassured her.

Phryne's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You have?"

"Yes." Jack's expression was open and sincere. "I meant it. I made a mistake. I aim to put it right."

She sensed a release of tension between them. Small, like a breath of air. And not enough to completely clear the air. But significant. "Thank you," she said softly.

He nodded, and produced some notes from his wallet. "Shall we go?" he asked, laying the money on the table. "I should introduce you to the team."

She smiled in agreement and they rose to leave. This time, when she took his arm, Jack knew it wasn't just for support.


	6. Chapter 6

**Previously:** Phryne and Jack went for hangover coffee, and Jack got Phryne up to speed on the case.

 **Chapter 6**

The rest of the day was spent at the police station. March was surprisingly accommodating as Jack introduced Phryne to him and his colleagues. He spent a good couple of hours taking her through the details of the crimes; locations, family lives of the girls – all the relevant facts, such as they were. Phryne responded with professionalism, asking pertinent questions and lending her insights. Having been introduced to the team as an expert, she found this D.I. and his constables pleasantly willing to listen to her input. She couldn't help but feel grateful to Jack for the way he had eased her into the investigation. She respected too, the work he had already done during his short time in the town. Knowing his style, she spotted his touch here and there, picking up on any unturned stone and ensuring that every lead had been thoroughly followed up. He had set up a meeting room like the interview room at City South, all the information up on the wall where they could see everything plainly. Phryne had thought it clever at the time, and from the look of it, March and his colleagues were impressed too.

But still, they were nowhere.

The articles from Melbourne arrived mid-afternoon, and she and Jack pored over them, comparing them to the local coverage. The case had been heavily reported locally, with the most popular town rag even running extended features on the grim details. It meant, unfortunately, that there was no way of narrowing down where the copycat killer was getting his information from.

"I've got my constables collating and comparing witness statements," D.I. March said, when it got to mid-evening. His voice was weary; long days were uncommon at this normally quiet police station. "But until tomorrow, that's probably all we can do."

"When do we get the second post mortem results?" Phryne asked. She felt as tired as March looked, though she was determined not to show it.

"First thing," he answered. "Shall I meet you at the morgue at 9.00 tomorrow?" His question was directed to Jack, and he noticed how the younger policeman's eyes darted to Miss Fisher before answering.

"We'll be there."

March raised his eyebrows. Involving a lady at the police station was one thing. A morgue was another. But then he met Miss Fisher's calm, steely gaze, and mentally shrugged. If that's the way they worked…

"Good night, then." He gave them a relieved smile, glad to be getting off home, and left them alone in the office.

They looked at each other in silence.

"We should get off too," Jack said. He looked dog tired as well, and Phryne remembered with a pang of guilt that he had spent all but a couple of hours last night sitting sentinel by her bed.

"A bath, a whiskey, and bed," she said, dreamily.

"Whiskey?" Jack said incredulously. How could she face it so soon?

"I meant for you," she said, smiling.

"Oh." He knew they still weren't quite right after their argument, that they had only scratched the surface with their conversation in the café. It hadn't been enough to convince him that she would welcome his presence in her suite at the Regency tonight.

But now she was moving closer to him. "I'll happily share the bath and bed though," she said, her voice low and intimate. She knew he was still keeping something back, but she knew somehow that it wasn't really about the case. It was personal. She just wanted to get him home (well, to her hotel room), get warm, comfortable and rested. Let them be themselves again.

Jack felt relief flow through his body as he clasped his arms around her. "Sounds perfect," he murmured.

"Good. Why don't you collect your things from that awful police issue hotel and come over?"

"I'll be there quicker than you can say…"

She gave a quiet laugh. "Jack Robinson," she finished in a whisper, before leaning her forehead against his.

They held on to each other tightly. Things weren't exactly right, Phryne thought again. But she felt they would be far less right if they let go.

()

She was wrapping herself in a robe when she heard the knock on the door.

"Good timing," she said as she opened the door. "I was just drawing you a bath."

Jack smiled as he entered. "Wonderful." His voice still sounded tired though, and he looked drawn as he deposited his small valise case on the bed.

"And…" Phryne picked up a full glass from the side and brought it to him. "I had just poured you a whiskey."

"Impressive multitasking, Miss Fisher." But he didn't take it from her. Rather, his hands went around her waist and pulled her body close to his.

Their lips met, tentative but intense. It was, he realised, their first kiss in four days. As the thought struck him, he pulled away, slightly sheepish.

"I'm not sure I've done anything to deserve the attention."

"You have," Phryne answered calmly, handing him the glass. He looked at her inquiringly.

"Thank you for today. Usually it takes months for me to ingratiate myself with the local police." There was a slight smirk on her features.

"Not as long as you might think," he answered, smirking himself now.

"Either way. I know you did that. So thank you."

"I should have done it days ago."

Phryne brushed his new attempt at an apology aside. "You've hardly been idle in my absence." She dropped down into the armchair he had spent the night in. "It's impressive, the investigation you've put together in that time."

Jack blew out a breath, and sat opposite her on the bed. "We haven't made any progress at all," he argued wearily.

"Nonsense," she frowned at him. "You've followed up everything you could. We're just waiting for the break now. And when it comes, we'll be ready for it. I can see why they requested you. What you did in the Foyle case, Jack..." She shook her head, a faint look of pride passing over her face. "It was remarkable. I've never seen anyone deal with the evidence like that before."

Jack nodded, remembering the reams of butcher's paper he had decorated City South with. "It was… talked about," he admitted, awkwardly. "There's so little work done on historic cases… I don't know, it seemed to catch a bit of attention in the force."

"Rightly so!" Phryne exclaimed, indignant at his apparent reluctance to accept credit.

But Jack was remembering another case, one that had been the opposite of impressive. It felt beyond odd, to be celebrated for one successful investigation when just a few months later, he had almost been run out of town for the failure of another.

"You're only as good as your last case," he murmured, ruminatively.

Phryne recognised the warning signs and leant forward, reaching across the space between them to grasp his hand. "You did… everything you could," she said firmly, willing him to remember the deal he had made with himself at the end of that awful time. Carry those victims with him, yes. But don't be haunted by them.

To her relief, he seemed to snap out of his reflective state and met her eyes. "I know." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

"Is that part of why you didn't want to tell me about this case?" Phryne asked, suddenly worried. "You do know I think you deserve any recognition you get, don't you?"

He considered. He had thought he was simply trying to protect her. But was there something about him being uncomfortable to admit that after all those months as the black sheep of the Victorian Police Force, his expertise was now being sought after? "Maybe… I don't know," he replied. He repeated it when she raised her eyebrows at him. "I really don't know. It might have been part of it."

"Hang on." Phryne stood and went to turn the bath taps off in the bathroom. She could feel they were nearing the crux of the problem and she wanted to give it her full attention.

He was standing when she came back in, his face creased with concern.

"I don't want to make excuses for what I did, Phryne."

"It's not about excuses." She took his hand. "I'm just trying to understand. And I don't want you to ever feel that you can't acknowledge your professional achievements, Jack. If that played any part in you not telling me you'd been called into this case, then I want to make sure you know that."

He was shaking his head. "It's not just the Cosgrove case. It doesn't…" He sighed. "It doesn't feel right, people heralding the Foyle investigation as some new advancement in cold case practice when it caused you and your family so much pain."

"Jack…"

"It wasn't even _my_ professional achievement, Phryne, it was yours! It was you who found that antique shop, you who found the photograph and Teresa Cavalli. It was you who made the connection with the birthdays of the victims. All I did was walk headlong into a trap and get myself knocked out!"

Phryne looked shocked. "And clearly, that knock on the head did more damage than I realised at the time!"

"What?" Jack looked momentarily confused.

"It seems to have permanently muddled your recollection!" she cried. Ignoring his eye roll, she continued. "I only found those clues because Foyle wanted me to, Jack. He threw those things into my path, they were meant for me. And I only made that connection about the birthdays because you had presented the information in a way that made it easy for me to make the link, something which I would _never_ have had the patience or method to do! And you may have walked into a trap, but you got yourself out of it in time to catch me at precisely the right moment and get me and Jane out of that hellhole!"

Jack sighed. "All of which might not have been necessary if…." He swallowed, knowing they were reaching the point.

"If what?"

"If I had just believed you about Foyle being alive in the first place."

"Oh, Jack!" Her tone was impatient. " _I_ didn't even believe me about Foyle at first."

"But you were right."

"I was thinking of him like he was a ghost," she argued. "A spectre, haunting me from beyond the grave. I was scared, and it was making me irrational. You might not have believed he was alive, but talking to you made me realise that I had to be logical about it, deal in facts rather than shadows. So when I finally came face to face with him…" she took a deep breath, remembering the moment. "It was real. He wasn't a ghost, or a monster. He was just a man. And I was prepared." Her hand came up to Jack's chest, resting over his heart.

Jack swallowed again, hoping that she meant what she said, that she wasn't just trying to make him feel better. But still, her words last night… He remembered her shaking, her small voice as she sat in bed whispering Foyle's name. What if, behind today's bravado, she really was that scared?

He offered her his glass, needing a moment to collect his thoughts. She looked slightly doubtful, but took it, deciding that the situation called for the hair of the dog. Meanwhile, Jack had walked over to a sideboard and was pouring himself a new glass. He seemed to be steeling himself for something, and so Phryne waited, cradling her whiskey and watching him closely.

He took a drink and leaned up against the sideboard. When he spoke, he seemed to address a nearby lampshade.

"I went to his execution."

Phryne was surprised. "You did?" She knew he didn't, as a rule. She knew of police officers who went to see their charges safely out of the world, and she found it slightly vindictive. She knew the idea of capital punishment didn't sit well with Jack; it was something they agreed on.

"After his circus stunt… I wanted to make sure." His eyes finally found hers. "In case you ever needed reassurance."

Phryne frowned, remembering his words in the café. He seemed very keen to assure her that Foyle was dead.

"That was… thank you." She didn't know what else to say.

He remained silent, looking at the carpet. She walked up to him, placing her glass on the sideboard and facing him. "What's going on, Jack?"

He licked his lips nervously, but didn't respond.

"You seem convinced I won't believe you when you tell me Foyle is gone. Have I missed something?"

He raised his head and looked at her searchingly, as if he was willing her to understand.

"Jack?" Her voice rose, frustration building. "Talk to me, please. There's something you're not telling me. Is it about last night?"

He drew a hand over his mouth and nodded.

"What happened?"

"You… were saying his name," he began, his voice quiet and sombre. "And you looked… so scared."

She bit her lip. It was true the fear had taken her over last night, but she was sure the large volume of alcohol she had consumed hadn't helped.

"I told you that Foyle was dead," he continued. "And you said…" his eyes went back to the floor. "You said "That's what you said last time.""

She mentally cursed. "Oh, Jack. I didn't mean…"

There was a silence as she tried to collect her thoughts. His fingers were playing with the tie of her robe, but there was nothing flirtatious or salacious about the action. She knew what he was doing; anchoring himself to her, forcing himself to stay and discuss this, not to retreat into himself as he was wont to do whenever he felt the slightest guilt about anything. His touch was his commitment that this moment of stress and strain would resolve itself in intimacy, and that the time for stilted conversation and glances was over.

She moved closer and placed her palm on his cheek. "I'm so sorry, darling," she whispered. "I don't even remember… but it must have come out so wrong. I was just drunk, and flippant, and… scared. You're right. I was scared."

His arms went round her at this admission, and she felt tears start to fall as she burrowed her face into his shoulder.

He began to speak then, low and soft.

"I hate to see you like that, Phryne. But you scared is better than most people at their best. I've seen you do amazing things when you're scared. I've seen you fight off people who want to kill you. I've seen you point a gun at a man who made your life hell. And I've seen you return your sister to your family."

She leant back to look at him, her heart warming with his words. His face was calm and open, and she marvelled at their endless ability to bend and flex together, each supporting the other in turn.

"So just be brave a bit longer, Phryne, and I'll be… what was it?" He thought back to her earlier compliment. "Patient and methodical. And we'll have this case solved in no time. Together."

They smiled at each other, and Phryne sniffed the last of her tears away. "You see!" she said thickly. "That was all I wanted!" She tightened her arms around him, half laughing.

"I know. I'm sorry." But he was still smiling as he dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Never again. I promise."

She drew a finger down his cheek. "I think you're rather brave as well, Jack Robinson."

He gave her a squeeze. "Really? How so?"

"You'd have to be. To be with me."

"Very true," he agreed, laughter in his voice. "But then there are compensations."

"Such as?"

"I think you said something about sharing a bath?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Previously** : Phryne and Jack cleared the air, and spent a pleasant night at the Regency.

 **Chapter 7**

Jack woke the next morning with a strange feeling of euphoria, and it took him a few moments to work out why. As he remembered the events of the last two days, it morphed into an overwhelming sense of relief. He had come so close to losing her.

Needing to reassure himself, he moved closer to Phryne's sleeping form. She was curled up on her side, her hair falling onto her face and obscuring all but her nose and the apple of her cheek. Jack reached out from behind her and gently pushed the shiny wing of black behind her ear.

Noticing the time, he realised not waking her up was a luxury they couldn't afford. He leant over to kiss her on the cheek.

She smiled, her eyes still closed. "What do _you_ want?" she muttered invitingly.

Jack smiled in response. "Not what you're thinking, I'm afraid."

"That's a first." She opened her eyes and rolled towards him.

"We're going to have to get a move on if we want to get the morgue."

Phryne rolled her eyes. "Not the most romantic thing to say to a woman."

He brushed his lips across her cheek. "You're not like other women."

She stretched her head up to look at the clock. "We have plenty of time!"

"We need to get breakfast too." As if to prove his point, his stomach gave a loud rumble.

She rolled her eyes again. "You know when people talk about a one track mind, they aren't usually talking about food, don't you?"

"I'm not like most people."

"A perfect match then," smiled. "Anyway, you can relax." A knock on the door punctuated her sentence. "I ordered room service."

A delighted smile spread across Jack's face. "Now, that _is_ romantic," he said, already out of bed.

()

As Jack had anticipated, the new Coroner was not as accepting of Phryne's presence at D.I. March and his colleagues had been. In fact, Phryne even began to think longingly of Dr. Johnson, Mac's grouchy predecessor in Melbourne.

Dr Carnaby's face was red with not quite supressed outrage.

"I simply cannot support this!"

"Dr Carnaby, I'm afraid I need her here. This is my investigation, after all."

"That may be so," huffed Dr Carnaby. "But it's my morgue."

Phryne was silent, knowing that Jack was rather enjoying being allowed to fight her corner for once.

He turned to her. "Miss Fisher," he began, adopting a formal tone. "Is it your attention to touch anything or mess anything up?"

She adopted a shocked look. "Certainly not, Inspector."

"Will you do your best not to get carried away with female hysteria and let loose a violent emotional outburst?"

Jack's face was so serious, she had to purse her lips together to keep from laughing. He was showing the Coroner up admirably.

"I'll do my best."

"Will you refrain from using the many reflective surfaces in this room to fix your make up?"

A small laugh escaped, but she disguised it as a cough. "I promise."

Jack nodded, his expression still stern. "You see, Dr Carnaby? We've addressed every possible concern. Do you have any others?"

The Coroner looked deeply offended. "I'm not staying here to be insulted, Inspector. You and your lady friend may read the report for yourselves."

With that, he flounced off.

Jack picked up the report with a sigh.

"Was that wise?" Phryne asked, sidling up to him.

"Probably not, since you're asking," he said. "But he was annoying me."

"Any particular reason?" Jack was normally much better at keeping his frustrations in check.

Jack paused, his eyes still on the report. Coughing awkwardly, he answered her. "I don't want you to think I'm like that."

"Jack!" Phryne was outraged. Jack's attempt to keep her out of this case had been down to his fears for her. She could understand that, even if she didn't agree with it. Dr Carnaby, on the other hand, was just a sexist pig. "Of course I don't. And you know I'm more than happy for you to insult any horrible chauvinists who cross our paths. It's just that generally, you leave that sort of thing to me."

Jack tilted his head. "Generally, I will," he admitted.

"Alright." She smiled, and linked her arm through his. "What does it say?" she asked, her attention back with the report.

"Same cause of death as the first victim. Same paralysis drug."

Phryne lifted up a page. "Same birthday," she added.

"It confirms what we thought," Jack said. "But it doesn't tell us anything new."

Phryne looked down at the small body on the slab. "What do we know about her?"

"Clarissa Downs. Aged 12. Parents comfortable but not well off. Lived three streets away from Agnes, but didn't really know her."

"Siblings?"

Jack glanced at her, wondering if she was thinking about Janey. "Older sister. Seventeen. She'd just won the town beauty contest."

There was a silence. "She's pretty too," murmured Phryne. "Poor girl."

Jack didn't reply.

A thought struck Phryne. "Any link between Agnes Waterhouse and the beauty contest."

Jack frowned, remembering the stocky, rather plain ten year old. "I shouldn't have thought so." At Phryne's questioning glance, he grimaced. "I don't mean… it's just, her mother said she was more of a tomboy. She was on her way back from a fundraiser at her local riding stables when she died."

"Riding stables?"

"Yes, the Waterhouses are better off than Clarissa's family."

"Different ages, different social classes, didn't know each other…." Phryne said wonderingly. "Just like before."

Jack nodded. "Someone knows exactly what Foyle used to look for. The birthdays are the only link, the only thing that matters."

"So that means there will be two more."

Jack eyed her grimly. "And no leads."

They left the building in silence, assuming Dr Carnaby was lurking somewhere nearby and awaiting their departure. Phryne looked over at Jack as they walked out into the street, worrying the visit to the morgue had awakened unpleasant memories of Lucy.

"Are you alright?"

Jack looked down at her in surprise. He had been worrying _she_ had been affected by the body of the young girl. "I was about to ask you that."

Phryne smiled ruefully, and took his arm. "Quite the pair, aren't we?"

Jack rolled his eyes, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Perfect match."

()

It took longer than usual to get into the small police station when they returned from the morgue. The whole of Church Street was packed with market stalls and families. It took Jack a moment to remember it was a Saturday; time seem to have lost all meaning.

"I didn't even know there were this many people in Port Leopold," Phryne exclaimed. "What on earth's going on?"

Jack shrugged. His attention has been caught by D.I. March, who was surveying the scene from the door of the station.

"Jack!" The D.I. looked happy to see them. "And Miss Fisher! Any luck at the morgue?"

"Nothing unexpected," Jack answered. He gestured behind him to the activity. "What's going on?"

"Oh! Church fete," said March. He pointed to a large, ancient looking church further down from the station, presumably the namesake of the street they were on. "It's an annual fundraising thing, but really it's just an opportunity for everyone to get together." He smiled fondly as he watched children being presented with prizes on a makeshift stage. "God knows everyone needs a bit of fun after what's being going on."

Phryne nodded, realising how much of an impact the murders must have had on this small town.

"I take it security has been – ?" Jack asked, but March was already nodding.

"I have every officer I can spare in the crowd. I'm taking no chances, people want to be sure their children are safe."

Jack nodded his satisfaction; March seemed to have everything under control.

"Oh," a smile spread over the older policeman's face. "Looks like little Maisie has won the treasure hunt."

They turned to see a delighted looking girl with dark pigtails being presented with a medal.

"It's in the blood," March whispered conspiratorially. "Her Dad's on the force."

Phryne smiled, watching as Maisie held up her medal to the cheers of the audience.

"I've left those witness statements out for you," March said.

"Thank you. Phryne, shall we?" Jack turned to her.

"Yes." Her eyes were still on the little girl, reluctant to leave such a happy scene. She pulled herself together; they had two murders to solve.

()

The witness statements yielded little result.

Jack sat back in his chair, frustration evident on his face. "He might as well be invisible."

Phryne perched on the desk, making their positions a mirror to those they habitually adopted back at City South. The familiarity of it relaxed Jack, and he exhaled slowly, taking advantage of the empty office to take hold of Phryne's ankle, massaging it gently.

She kicked off her shoes, balancing her stockinged feet on his knee absent-mindedly. "Are you sure it's a 'he'?"

Jack considered. "No. Other than, it usually is."

He was right, she knew. And yet. "There's something about the 'fan' aspect of this…" she said. "The attention to detail. This person worships Foyle."

"Doesn't mean it's a woman."

"I know, but…" she shrugged. "Something about it feels feminine to me."

Jack was silent.

"You don't agree?"

"It's not that I don't agree," Jack said. "It just doesn't help us find him or her."

"No, but…" Phryne was deep in thought.

Jack paused in his ministrations to her feet. "What is it?"

"Don't stop," Phryne chided. "I'm just thinking."

Jack smiled and waited patiently, watching her brow crease in concentration as she thought it out. His strong fingers worked her tired feet and she closed her eyes.

Suddenly, they flashed open.

"Remember Jane at Christmas?"

Jack frowned. "Of course I do." He wasn't sure what she was referring to, but it has been the first 'family' Christmas he had really had since his divorce. It was certainly the happiest he had had since his parents had been alive. He remembered everything about it, every detail of the sumptuous Christmas dinner Mr Butler had cooked and every note of every Christmas song Jane had begged him to play on the piano.

"Remember her Impressionist obsession?"

Jack smiled. The girl who had gone away to Europe obsessed with ancient history had come back with a sudden and inexplicable interest in art. Jack has supposed it was merely trips around the Louvre and the Prado that had inspired the conversion, but Phryne had thought there was more to it than that. She had walked into her bedroom with a smug grin on her face on Christmas night and sauntered over to where Jack lay with a victorious swagger.

"What is it?" he had asked.

"Monsieur Blanc." She had said proudly.

"Who on earth is Monsieur Blanc?" Jack had asked, his accent mangling the vowels horribly.

"Art teacher and object of Jane's most recent crush." There had been laughter in her voice as she lay down beside him.

"So she's not really interested in all that stuff?" Jack had been outraged. He had rushed out to exchange the classics books he had bought her for art history textbooks only the day before. She had seemed delighted with her presents.

"Of course she is!" Phryne was jubilant. "It's a completely genuine interest. It's amazing how someone else's interests become your own when you're in love."

Jack frowned. Jane was too young for all that, even if it was just a crush. It took him a moment to notice that Phryne had slipped a magazine out of her robe and was now holding it in front of her face, apparently engrossed.

A grin had flashed onto his face as he recognised his own issue of _Cycling Monthly_ and he had rolled his eyes as he realised she'd probably been preparing her 'joke' all day. He had growled at her, and tried to snatch it away. The resulting tussle had been vastly enjoyable for both parties.

"Jack!"

Jack snapped back to the present time, and realised his hands had been wandering further up Phryne's leg.

"Sorry," he said, quickly. "I drifted off."

"Am I boring you?"

"Far from it. I'm finding some memories of that Christmas distracting, that's all."

" _Cycling Monthly?"_

The resulting blush on Jack's face told her she had guessed correctly.

"As inviting as those memories are, Jack, I'm talking about Jane just now."

"I'm sorry. Continue."

"Jane's obsession with her art teacher and with art were basically the same thing. If this person is obsessed with Foyle…"

"…then they would share his obsession with the ancient worlds?"

"Yes! In particular, Egyptology. Can we check local courses, maybe cross reference students with witness statements…?"

"And criminal records," Jack suggested. "Murderers don't usually appear fully formed, there would have been some lead up…."

"I'll ring the university in Adelaide," Phryne said, jumping up.

"They run short courses at the library too," Jack said, remembering a leaflet he had seen at the station. "I'll telephone them." He went through to the reception to use the other phone. He felt that familiar surge of adrenalin, the energy that came from finally having a lead to follow after so many dead ends. It had been true, what he had said to March yesterday. Phryne really was invaluable. Maybe they would finally get somewhere now.

He had only just picked up the phone when the doors to the station burst open and March staggered through. He was struggling to hold on to another man, who was straining and shouting back outside.

"Hang on, man!" March was shouting. "You need to tell us what happened!"

Jack had put down the phone and rushed around the other side of the counter. "What's going on here?" he asked, shocked by the look of pale horror on the man's face.

March ignored him, taking the man by the shoulders. "Look at me, Tom! We'll find her. We'll find her. I promise you that."

Tom started to sob and his body sagged. Between them, March and Jack helped him to a chair. Phryne appeared in the door, having heard the commotion.

"Jack?" she asked, shock and confusion evident on her face.

"Who is this?" Jack asked March quietly, though he had a horrible idea he already knew.

"This is Constable Thomas Green," March answered. "His daughter is Maisie."

"The girl who won the treasure hunt?" Phryne asked in awed horror.

Tom simply sobbed louder.

March looked at Jack, and for the first time, Jack understood how out of his depth the older police officer was.

"She just disappeared," he whispered.


	8. Chapter 8

**Previously:** Another girl disappeared in Port Leopold

 **Chapter 8**

"I promised him."

Tom Green's sister had taken him home. In the station, March was a shadow of his former self. He sat in the chair Jack had occupied only a couple of hours before, his large frame near to trembling. His gaze was fixed numbly in the distance, and he barely seemed to acknowledge the large brandy Phryne set down in front of him.

"Promised him what?"

"That we would find her."

Phryne nodded at the fear on his face. That had been a mistake: they both knew it. Jack had said it many times.

 _Never promise you'll find them. Never promise you'll find the person you did it. You can promise you'll do everything you can to get them justice. But justice itself… that isn't yours to promise._

"We'll do everything we can," she offered.

"That's not the same, is it?"

"It's all we have."

His eyes flickered to hers briefly. "You talk like someone who's been doing this for years."

"I haven't," Phryne admitted. "But Jack has."

"And he shares that with you?" March sounded slightly incredulous.

"We share everything," she answered honestly.

"Tom's one of my own," March said dumbly. "In this town, everything's personal. But it's never been this personal before."

Phryne sat down across the desk from him. "The original case… with Murdoch Foyle…"

March looked up.

"My sister was one of the victims", she said quickly.

"She was taken?" March looked distraught.

"And murdered."

"I'm sorry."

Phryne acknowledged him with a silent nod. "Anyway. You don't get more personal than that. And we still caught him. In the end."

March nodded, as if he was putting the pieces together. "Is that why he worked so hard on it? Jack? Because it was… you?" He had never believed theirs was merely a professional association.

"I don't think so," Phryne shook her head. "He always…." She paused, remembering Lucy Cosgrove. "It's always personal with Jack. I know he seems… but it's always personal. And he always works hard."

"I didn't mean to…" March said, worried he had offended her.

"I know." Phryne looked at the clock. "I'm just… he's been gone a while."

"He knows what he's doing," March said.

She smiled suddenly. "I thought I was supposed to be comforting you."

He pushed his brandy over to her, and she took a drink.

()

It was evening before Jack returned to the station. He had arranged official search parties all across town. Anybody who could was out there looking for Maisie Green. He had left Phryne to make sure witness statements were being taken, and unofficially, to keep an eye on D.I. March, who had obviously taken the disappearance hard.

He walked into the reception to find another constable, Sharp, behind the desk. He rolled his eyes internally. From what he had seen, Sharp didn't exactly live up to his name.

"Have you collated those door-to-doors yet?"

"Sir?"

"The door-to-door enquiries? Have you collated the results?" he snapped.

Sharp looked terrified. "Uh, not yet, Sir."

"Well, get it done, man! Do you think we have all day to waste?" Jack's voice had risen harshly, and he had to fight to bring his angry expression under control when he noticed Phryne in the doorway.

"Jack?"

She made to come to him, but he pulled her back into the office and away from Sharp's curious gaze.

She followed him into the corridor. "Are you alright?"

He looked tired and drawn. "It's like pushing syrup up a hill, trying to get anything done here. Everyone's in a blind panic."

"You can't blame them for that, I suppose."

Jack gave her a look that plainly said he could, and he did. "They're still police officers, Phryne."

"It's a small town. Everyone's connected. And they're scared."

He exhaled deeply. "Yes. Well…" He leaned back, the crown of his head connecting lightly to the wall. "They're not alone."

"Jack…" she took his arm.

His eyes searched hers earnestly. He almost whispered the next sentence. "I was praying for this to stay a murder, Phryne. Not an abduction."

"I know, darling." She knew too, how difficult it was to admit to her he was struggling, especially in the middle of an active investigation, with everything relying on him. The Port Leopold police force has essentially crumbled under the weight of this new disappearance, so catastrophic was it to their morale. They had left all responsibility in the hands of a man who, had not so long ago cracked under his own catastrophe.

They didn't know that. But he did, and she did. And she could tell he was desperately trying to stick to their deal, to share how he felt and accept her help. No matter what it cost him.

She hooked her fingers into his belt loops and drew him close. "But it's happened now. So we have to deal with it. We'll do it together." She put her palm to his cheek. "We're together this time, remember?"

He nodded, his eyes fluttering shut as he took refuge in their brief moment together.

"Everyone's searching?" she asked.

"Everyone who is available is on the streets," he replied. "We're collating the door-to-doors, a description has gone out on the wireless…" His eyes were still shut. It was as if he was mentally checking items off a list, making sure nothing had been left undone. She knew the process was important; it was process that had gone wrong before.

His eyes flickered open. "Witness statements?" he asked her.

"Taken," she confirmed.

"Anything?"

She nodded. It had been what she had been going to check out when she caught Jack yelling at the constable. "One of the witnesses matches a name from one of those library Egyptology courses. March is looking her up."

Jack's eyes brightened. "Alright." He walked into the office, where March was on his feet, on the telephone and writing something down.

He rang off. "Address for Annabel Wilson." He handed it to Jack.

"This is the witness?" Jack looked at Phryne and she confirmed it with a nod.

"No criminal record," March said. "But she's worth checking out. It's our only lead."

Jack nodded to Phryne. "We'll go and see her now."

"What can I do?" March looked and sounded desperate.

"Stay here and make sure those door-to-doors get collated," Jack said. In all honesty, March looked like he needed to go home, but they couldn't afford that now.

March nodded. There was a pause. "I promised Tom we'd find her."

"I know." Jack looked at him, understanding his panic. "Don't worry about that just now. Let's just make sure we do."

()

"Miss Wilson?"

Annabel screwed up her eyes as she looked at Jack's credentials, groping in her dressing gown pocket for her glasses. She was a brunette in her thirties, an event organiser for the council, Phryne had told him.

She looked nervous, but maybe that was natural for a woman who lived alone and was being visited by the police.

"It's rather late," she said uncertainly. "Is this about Maisie Green?"

"Yes," said Phryne.

"Then you'd better come in." She ushered them inside. "Have they found her?" Her eyes, large and owlish behind her glasses, were full of concern.

"Not yet," Jack said.

"Oh, that poor child. And poor Tom. He's devoted to her, especially since his wife passed away."

"I understand you organised the fete today, Miss Wilson?" Jack pressed on.

"Yes. I… I spoke to the police about security, I wanted to make sure everyone was safe."

"This isn't about that," Jack said impatiently. He felt Phryne's hand on his arm, and let her step forward to speak.

"I'm sure you did everything you could, Miss Wilson," she said, sympathetically.

Jack took a deep breath. Maybe Phryne was better off handling this. He backed off, examining the small flat as Phryne continued.

"Was there something wrong with my statement?" Annabel was asking.

"No," Phryne said. "We just wanted a little more information."

"Of course. Please sit down. I can make some tea…"

They sat on opposite chairs. "There's really no need, Miss Wilson. Do you… do you happen to know Maisie's date of birth?"

"Her date of birth?" Annabel looked surprised. "I'm afraid not. Surely her father…"

But Phryne had moved on. She already knew Maisie's birthday was the same as the others; she just wanted to see if Annabel did.

"Tell me how the treasure hunt works?" On the way there, Jack had wondered if maybe the competition had been rigged, a deliberate attempt to single Maisie out or throw her into the spotlight.

"It's completely random," Annabel answered. "They just pick a square on a map."

She continued to explain as Jack examined the pictures and certificates on her wall. He was vaguely aware of Phryne going over her statement, and that Maisie had disappeared just after Annabel had gathered the fete winners together for a celebratory photograph. Suddenly, his gaze landed on a certificate from the Port Leopold Public Library and Archive.

"You took a course on Ancient Egypt, Miss Wilson?"

His voice seemed to startle Annabel. "Y… Yes."

Phryne got up and came to look at the certificate.

"It was just a summer course," Annabel said, confused by the sudden interest. "Just for fun."

"What made you decide to do it?" Phryne asked casually.

"There was a big feature on it in the paper. You could enter a competition to win a free place."

"The _Courier_?"

"Yes."

"An you won?" Jack had turned to look at her.

"No, but… I decided to do it anyway. Just for fun," she repeated. "Look, what does this have to do with Maisie?"

"We're just trying to get a full picture," Jack said calmly. It was a vague statement, but Annabel nodded. Phryne relaxed, realising Jack's professional exterior had returned.

"Well if that's everything…" Annabel looked keen to return to bed.

"Yes," Phryne said, sharing a look with Jack. "Thank you for your help, Miss Wilson."

The minds of both detectives were whirring as they left. Phryne was the first to articulate her thoughts as they climbed back into the car.

"This all started happening after that course finished," she said. "And so far, none of the University students have looked promising."

Jack nodded, climbing into the driving seat. "You think whoever's doing this was on that library course."

"I do. And they might have been very interested in a competition to win a place. We should speak to the people at the paper, see if they got any interesting correspondence about it. _Or_ , any correspondence about the Foyle case!"

Jack shrugged. He wasn't sure how promising that lead sounded. But there was something else. "We should look at those photographs too. The paper was covering it, and Miss Wilson said the pictures were being taken at the time Maisie disappeared."

"Yes," Phryne agreed. "We'll go and see them first thing in the morning." At Jack's glance, she raised her eyebrows. "It's nearly midnight, darling. There's nothing else we can do now."

Jack started the engine. "I'll drop you at the hotel. I should get back to the police station."

"Jack, no." Phryne's voice was firm as she put a hand on his arm. "Everyone is searching. There's nothing more we can do now. We can't follow up anything till morning. The most useful thing you can do is get some sleep so that we can start fresh tomorrow."

Jack swallowed. He knew that logically, she was right, but it still went against the grain to climb into a comfortable bed whilst Maisie was still out there somewhere.

"I don't know…" he said, uncertainly.

She tightened her grip. "Please, Jack, trust me." This was it, she knew; the biggest test. The one she had been waiting for; the one she dreaded. Whether or not he would, when it came down to it, let her help him when this happened again. For a moment, she pictured him retreating from her and watched history repeat himself. An exhausted and guilty police officer, a failed investigation, months of doubt, recriminations and depression.

She wasn't sure she could go through it again. She _knew_ he couldn't.

But he was nodding, and she exhaled softly, trying not to show how relieved she was.

"Alright," he was saying quietly. "Back to the hotel."

Phryne smiled gently at him as he put the car into gear and pulled it out into the road. His brow furrowed into the frown of concentration he habitually wore when driving. She looked out towards the road, blinking back tears of relief and hoping he hadn't seen how scared she had been in that moment.


	9. Chapter 9

**Previously:** The hunt for Maisie got underway, and Phryne managed to convince Jack to get some rest.

 **Chapter 9**

Though it had been a hard fought victory to persuade Jack to return to the hotel for the night and get some sleep, Phryne was seriously asking herself the next day if it had actually done any good.

She had dozed fitfully, but even that was a night of luxury compared to Jack, who tossed and turned for hours, his exhausted body occasionally dragging him into sleep for mere moments before he jolted awake again with a start.

She had tried to stay close to him, an arm across his chest so he could feel her reassuring weight on him, but he had been too restless and had eventually rolled away, knowing that she could get no sleep with him moving endlessly in her arms and thinking that at least one of them should get some rest. He was up when she awoke, already bathed and fully dressed, leaving her with no choice but to jump up and throw on an outfit with something less than her usual care.

He chased her wordlessly out of the door and they drove quickly to the police station, keen to know if there had been any developments overnight.

March had replied in the negative, looking so drawn and weary that Jack had immediately sent him home to sleep. "The most useful thing you can do it get some sleep and start again fresh tomorrow," he said, only aware half way through his sentence that he was parroting Phryne's words from the night before.

She shot him a triumphant look as March left and Jack shifted awkwardly. "You do make the rare valid point," he said cheekily.

Phryne smirked and leaned in to him. "Not just a pretty face, you mean?"

Jack took her face in both hands and turned her upwards to look into her eyes. "Beautiful," he murmured. "But so much more."

She rewarded him with a smile and their lips met chastely.

"Thank you," he said as they parted.

"For what?"

"Making me go home."

"You didn't sleep," she chided.

"It was better than nothing. And just lying beside you… helps," he admitted.

"Any time, Inspector." They shared another smile before she picked up the phone on March's desk. "Time to call the paper."

()

The offices of the _Port Leopold Courier and Advertiser_ , known locally as the _Courier_ , were not exactly spacious, but Jack supposed they did the job. The paper only employed 4 journalists and an editor, the latter of which showed them into the office of the lead news reporter, Verity Shawcross.

She was out at the moment, he explained, but she would probably be the best person to help. The other reporters focussed on sport, finance and politics, whilst Verity covered social and local events, as well as some of the larger news stories from across Victoria.

"Actually, we were also hoping to speak to whoever deals with advertising, Mr. Cannon," Phryne said.

"That would be me," Cannon replied, his moustache bristling. "As I said, it's a small outfit."

"Ah. It was in reference to a competition for a library course. On Ancient Egypt?"

"Oh, that was Verity," Cannon answered. "It was a feature, not an advertisement. Ah, here she is now!"

The door to the main office had opened and in walked a slim, blonde woman in her thirties. Phryne noticed immediately that her clothes were not expensive, but well-chosen and fitted. A woman of taste. Her hair was bobbed around her cheeks, slightly longer and curlier than Phryne's own, and shrewd blue eyes appraised them as she walked over to her own office.

"Hello," she said. Her voice was high and clear.

"Verity, love, these people are from the police," Cannon said. And with that, he was off, citing a busy workload.

Jack was aware of Verity coolly appraising them as she shook hands with them both. "I know all of the police officers in Port Leopold," she said. "I don't recognise you." There was a slightly pointed look at Phryne as she finished this sentence.

Jack pulled out a card and handed it to her. "I'm Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, from the Melbourne police. Miss Phryne Fisher is a private detective."

Verity looked startled, and she looked back and forward between Jack and Phryne for a moment. "From Melbourne…" she murmured. Suddenly, her confusion seemed to clear. "Of course. Robinson."

Phryne sensed Jack tensing up next to her, and she braced herself, knowing what was to come.

"I reported on the Cosgrove case for the _Courier_ ," Verity explained, a slightly predatory look crossing her features. She looked down her long nose intently, and Phryne was reminded suddenly and irresistibly of an eagle circling her prey.

Jack nodded. He was never sure how to react when people brought up the case. What was he supposed to do, wave and smile brightly? _"Yes! That was me! Let's have a long and detailed conversation about it!"_ Generally, he just stayed quiet.

"You also reported on the Foyle case," Phryne said, and Jack felt a not unusual pang of gratitude to her for moving the discussion along.

"Yes," Verity said. She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I tend to get stuck with the criminal cases, I'm afraid. Too low brow for my colleagues.

Phryne smiled tightly. She wasn't entirely sure she liked Miss Shawcross.

Jack interjected. "We wanted to ask if you had received any… unusual correspondence in relation to your coverage of the Foyle case in Melbourne?"

She gave a snort. "All I get is unusual correspondence, I can assure you. Stories like that bring out the creeps, haven't you noticed?" She directed the question to Phryne, who remained silent.

"Anything more than unusual?" Jack asked. "Someone wanting more information, further details, anything like that?"

But Verity's eyes had narrowed. "I thought you would be investigating the disappearance of Maisie Green? And these two murders?"

"We are, Miss Shawcross."

"Then why do you want to know about my correspondence?"

"We believe whoever is doing this might have an interest in murder cases."

"I'd say that was a given, wouldn't you?" Verity looked scornful.

Phryne grit her teeth impatiently. She knew Jack didn't want to give too much away, but they were never going to get anywhere at this rate.

"In a _particular_ murder case," she said.

"In the Foyle case?" The reporter's eyes lit up with the thrill of a scoop.

"This is off the record, Miss Shawcross." Jack's voice was stern, and he shot Phryne a censorious glance. They didn't want details of this in the _Courier_.

Verity had already been reaching for her notebook. "Oh, alright," she said, apparently resigned. "There _were_ some odd letters, I suppose. I'll look them out for you."

"There was something else," Jack continued. "The feature you ran about the Egyptology courses at the library. Any letters about that?"

"Egyptology." There was that bird of prey look again. "Of course. Foyle was into all that wasn't he? You're sure he isn't at it again?"

"He's well and truly dead, Miss Shawcross." Phryne's statement was emphatic.

"But of course." A sudden smile that showed sharp eye teeth. "You two should know. You were the ones who caught him, weren't you?"

"Not before six people had died, Miss Shawcross, so if we could move this along…" Jack patience was wearing thin.

"I understand you must have lots to do," Verity replied quickly. "Why don't I look out the letters and bring them to police station?"

"We also need any photographs from yesterday's fete."

"Of course." She picked up a packet from her desk and handed it to Jack. "It was nice to meet you both."

()

Jack and Phryne returned to the station and Jack threw himself into directing the searchers whilst Phryne searched the Courier photographs for any clues. There were several of Maisie getting her prize, but nothing that offered any assistance in finding her.

Jack had just returned to the office and was telling her about the new search patterns when there was a knock on the door.

"Miss Shawcross from the Courier is here to see you," Constable Sharp said nervously.

"Show her in, please." Jack said, jumping out of his seat. "What?" he asked, as he noticed a grimace cross Phryne's face.

"I don't like that woman," Phryne whispered.

Jack shrugged. "We don't have to like everyone we question. Anyway, she has to be a bit… brusque. She wouldn't be much good as a reporter otherwise."

"I know, but don't give me that nonsense about her being "stuck" with the murder cases. She loves it!"

Jack smiled. "We both chose a life of crime too, don't forget."

"We trying to solve it! We don't revel in it!"

Jack shrugged. He had found her slightly ghoulish too, but he had been a policeman long enough to know there were plenty of people out there who had an unhealthy interest in the more sordid criminal cases. At least Miss Shawcross had put it to good use.

But when Verity Shawcross entered the small office, she didn't look like she was enjoying it anymore. Her thin face was drawn, and the look of predatory arrogance that had irritated Phryne so much had disappeared.

"Miss Shawcross?" Jack offered her a chair.

"No, thank you. I won't stay long. I just wanted to give you this." She was holding a letter in her hand. "It wasn't until you mentioned the library course that I put two and two together…" She handed it to Jack. He took it out of its envelope and unfolded it, reading it aloud so Phryne could hear.

 _"Dear Miss Shawcross,_

 _I read with interest your articles on the case of Murdoch Foyle in Melbourne. Despicable though his crimes were, the gentleman was obviously of some great intellect to concoct such a scheme and evade justice for so many years._

 _The key to escaping justice in these matters often lies in the successful deposition of the bodies. You never mentioned in your articles how, or indeed where, this was done. I wonder, do you know? Or perhaps you keep his secrets for him still._

 _Perhaps that is best. After all, his day of resurrection might yet come._

 _Yours,_

 _Ezra Hill."_

Phryne was shaking with rage at the end of the reading, and she paced the office to disguise the fact. But she couldn't stop the exclamation of "horrible!" that dropped from her lips.

Jack was looked at her in sympathy. "I agree. You didn't think this was worth reporting to the police, Miss Shawcross?"

Verity looked offended. "If I reported every crackpot letter to the police, they wouldn't get much else done, I assure you. I got dozens of letters like that about that case, each one creepier than the one before!"

"Why did you bring this one?" Jack wondered what made the letter he was holding special in Miss Shawcross's eyes.

"It was when you mentioned that Egyptology course at the library," Verity said awkwardly. "I suddenly made the link. 'Ezra'. It's an unusual name, otherwise I might not have recognised it."

"He entered the competition," Phryne said, stopping suddenly in her pacing.

"Yes." Verity met her eyes nervously. "He didn't win, but he made multiple entries. He really wanted it."

"Did you reply to this letter?" Jack asked her.

"Of course not! What on earth would I say to a letter like that?"

"And he never contacted you again?"

"Other than to enter the competition, no. I never heard from him."

Jack turned over the envelope, noting the return address. Here, at last, was a solid lead!

"Thank you for coming in Miss Shawcross," he said, keen to get rid of the reporter. "We'll get in touch if we have any further questions."

Verity nodded and turned to go. At the door, she paused, and addressed them both. "I'm sorry if I seemed flippant before. I'm always observing and reporting on these horrible things, and I always considered myself detached from it all. The thought that something I wrote has caused someone to do something like…" she tailed off. "Anyway. I'm sorry. I hope the letter helps."

Jack nodded. "Thank you. I'm sure it will."

Phryne watched her go in silence and then directed a look at Jack. "I don't believe that for a second. She's enjoying every moment."

"She seemed quite contrite," Jack pointed out fairly. "Anyway, never mind Miss Shawcross." He held up the envelope. "We have an address."

Phryne took the envelope from him, studying the address carefully.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just… something seems familiar, that's all."

Jack paused in putting his coat on and looked at the letter with her. When Phryne got a hunch like this, it was usually worth following through.

But this time, she shook her head. "I'm not sure. Maybe it's the name."

"Ezra Hill?"

"Yes. Oh – " she broke off. "I can't think of it now. Maybe I know him?"

Jack shrugged, putting his hat on. "Let's go and find out."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry, bit of a longer chapter today but I couldn't find a good place to cut it up! Thanks for all the reviews and kind words, it warms my heart to know you're enjoying this! Happy weekend!**

 **Gingham xx**

 **Previously:** Jack and Phryne met a reporter, and found a new lead.

 **Chapter 10**

Phryne climbed back into the car and slammed the door with a loud bang that did nothing to relieve her feelings.

The address for Ezra Hill had been empty; long abandoned by the looks of it.

"I suppose we couldn't expect for him to stick around at home when all of this started," Phryne said, trying to bring some reason to the proceedings. Jack had slumped horribly when they had found the house empty, and was now leaning dejectedly against the door frame of the empty living room as two Constables searched the rest of house.

"He'll have a hideout somewhere, a hidden lair," Phryne continued. "We just have to find it."

Jack shook his head impatiently, looking at his watch. "Most killers don't have 'lairs', Phryne." His voice was dull.

Phryne found herself unusually irritated by his fatalistic tone. "Foyle did." It was almost a snap.

Jack's eyes met her and she saw him relive those awful moments in that basement. How close everything had come to being so different. "Yes." He said quietly. "He did." He sighed and looked at his watch again.

"What is it?"

"It's four thirty," he said. When she looked puzzled, he went on: "24 hours since she went missing. The other two bodies were found within 24 hours. We may already be too late."

"Or maybe it's a good sign. Maybe whoever took her didn't realise she was a policeman's daughter, and they panicked. Maybe they're keeping her alive somewhere."

Jack looked at her. How long had it taken Phryne to accept her sister's murder, he wondered? Did she say the same things to herself, to her parents? Was it only when they found her that she accepted the truth? Or was it the war that made her realise the finality of death? He should have asked her, he thought. He couldn't now.

But she was, essentially, an optimist. He, unfortunately, was the opposite.

"I think she's dead, Phryne. We just haven't found her yet."

She was about to take his arm, tell him it was too early to think like that, raise him up so he could continue to fight. But suddenly, and to her horror, she found that she didn't have the energy. All she could think about was…

"I'm going to have another look at that letter," she said, and left without waiting for a reply.

Back in the car, she paused for a moment before opening the glove compartment. Why did he have to make everything so bleak? Even as she thought it, she chided herself, knowing it wasn't true. The last six months had opened up a whole new world of Jack; moments of happy, giddy silliness that she would never have thought possible. And whenever he _had_ found things difficult before she had always been willing – keen! – to help. But just now… she sighed. Maybe it was inevitable they would become short tempered with each other. This case was deeply personal for both of them, stirring up unpleasant memories and almost paralysing them with the desperation to not repeat past mistakes. It was natural that their ability to support each other would be affected; impossible for it not to be, really. But she didn't like it. She took a deep breath, resolving to try harder.

Refocusing her mind, she opened the glove compartment and pulled out the letter she had placed there.

She'd heard part of the name before, she realised that now. She read the letter again, her heart beating faster. It wasn't just the name that was familiar, either…

She was distracted by the driver's side door opening, and looked up as Jack climbed in.

"Nothing to show Ezra Hill ever lived there," he reported, looking despondent. "The place has been cleared out."

"Maybe he never did," Phryne said, still clutching the letter.

Jack looked at her, recognising the fire of a new lead in her eyes. He began to feel unaccountably better, and he didn't even know what she was going to say.

"You don't think Ezra Hill exists?"

"Oh, he exists," Phryne retorted. "Someone wrote this letter. And we agree it must be the killer, don't we?"

"Yes," Jack said, thinking back over their conversation on the way to the address. "The information about the deposition sites was never in the papers. And it's the one thing this killer appears not to know. His depositions have been clumsy, obvious. That's why we've found the girls so quickly."

"Agreed. I just don't think his name is Ezra Hill."

"You think he chose it deliberately?"

"Yes. He's taunting us. There was no Ezra Hill on that library course. It's a false name. 'Ezra' because it's an unusual name, bound to catch Verity Shawcross's attention. And Hill, because of the connection to the case!"

Jack looked puzzled for a second until his brow cleared. "Myrtle Hill?" he asked, referencing the girl who had escaped Foyle's clutches all those years ago. He tilted his head, thinking. "It's not an uncommon name."

Phryne frowned. "You think it's a coincidence?"

Jack shrugged, but didn't get a chance to answer before Phryne interjected. "There's something else. This letter, Jack… it sounds like Foyle." She did her best to ignore his shocked expression. "Remember that letter of his I burnt?"

Jack nodded.

"It's exactly like that. His use of words, phrases – _"day of resurrection"_ – it's exactly like Foyle. Even the handwriting is the same!" Her voice was rising in pitch and as she looked at him, she saw a look of concern cross his face.

"Phryne, are you saying…"

Despite her earlier promise to herself, she felt a wave of irritation hit her. "I'm not saying I think it _is_ him, Jack."

His eyes widened. "Phryne –" he hastened to interrupt but she continued, anger building at him.

She was almost shouting. "Please don't lets have this conversation again, just listen to what I'm saying – !"

"Phryne!" This time, his voice was loud enough to stop her. She took a breath, realising she might have got carried away. He turned in his seat to face her. "I am listening to you," he said calmly. "You're saying you think this person might have known Foyle, or corresponded with him when he was in prison."

"Oh." Phryne reddened slightly at the realisation that she had misjudged him. "Sorry. Yes. It's just you looked rather disturbed. I thought you might have thought I'd gone a bit mad."

Jack looked as if he was thinking about arguing with her, but when he opened his mouth, a laugh fell out. He looked momentarily embarrassed, but then pressed his fingers to his eyes and let himself succumb, his shoulders shaking in mirth.

Phryne tried to garner some annoyance, but couldn't stop herself smiling. It was such a beautiful, welcome sound: Jack laughing.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice also tinged with amusement.

He took a moment to gather himself and then looked at her with an expression Phryne could only characterise as 'fond resignation'. "I looked 'rather disturbed'?" he quoted incredulously. "Is there anything about this that isn't disturbing? I can't believe we _both_ haven't gone mad yet."

He was still laughing, but there was a tragic sort of truth behind his words that made Phryne wistful. She reached across and took his hand. "Maybe we have…" she said softly, only half joking.

He stopped laughing, but his expression was calm and open. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them gently. "We're alright," he said softly. "Aren't we?"

Phryne felt herself melt instantly. "I think so," she whispered back. In all honesty, she wasn't at all sure, but this moment, right here, was enough.

He smiled, and there was a hint of laughter left in the air as he cleared his throat. "So what's our next move? See if the prison has kept any records of prisoner correspondence?"

"Yes," Phryne said. "And we should contact Myrtle Hill."

"Really?"

"Yes. There must be some link. Some contact that he's made with her… we should at least check she's alright."

Jack nodded. He had initially been surprised that she wanted to drag Myrtle back into this, but what she said made sense.

"I'll call Collins when we get back to the station. He can go and speak to her."

()

A message was relayed to Collins at City South and duly acted upon. When he called back at around 9 o'clock that evening, Phryne snatched up the phone impatiently. The last few hours had been nervy. D.I. March had returned from his enforced rest, and his reaction to the news that no headway had been made in search for Maisie had been distinctly unpleasant. Phryne felt sorry for him; she did. He'd probably never had to deal with anything like this before, and to have it happen to one of his own men was unthinkable.

But all day, she had felt that Jack and she were teetering on a knife edge, both perilously close to somewhere they had been before and did not wish to visit again. And this black hole, this abyss that they were both studiously trying to ignore; it wasn't a one-ticket-only situation. If one went down, the other went too. They knew that, and trying to keep one another upright; a prod here, a kiss there, an insane moment of laughter in a car elsewhere - it had become the only way they could carry on.

It was a balancing act that was taking all their skill, patience and balance to pull off. It would be so easy to give into tiredness or fear and let a sharp word slip out; easy too, to retreat into well-worn paths of self-destruction, forsaking the sanity of one for the wilful self-destruction of the other. Phryne was proud, not just of him, but of them; they were living up to it, their greatest fear. They were doing it.

So what they emphatically did not need was D.I. March storming in and doing his best to knock them off kilter. She knew it wasn't deliberate; she knew he was afraid. But afraid or not, he shouldn't accuse Jack. He shouldn't accuse her. It was an insult that wasn't just going to slip away: water off a ducks back. Not this time. Not today. Today it could knock them right into the abyss.

His litany of accusations covered all the highlights from _"Just because you don't personally know the people affected…"_ all the way to _"What the hell have you been doing? I should never have left this in your hands!"_ His face was purple, literally purple. Jack had braced himself. It was desperately unfortunate that March should have sought an update from Constable Sharp. Off course his stammering report was going to make it sound like nothing had been achieved. On any other day, March would have known that.

"Inspector, sit down and I'll tell you!" Jack had been outraged. This was no way for a senior officer to behave on duty, no matter what his state of mind.

Jack had proceeded to give him a thorough report, and March seemed to relax a little. But Jack could see it was still there, the fear that had been borne from the promise he had made to Tom Green; the promise he feared he couldn't keep. It was disappointing, dispiriting; more than that, to realise he was already looking for someone to take the blame.

Jack had tersely suggested March go to debrief the search teams, and he grudgingly complied, leaving a relieved Phryne and a tense Jack in the office when the phone rang.

"Hugh!" Phryne could never have told him how glad she was to hear his voice, not just because she was keen to hear his news but because just to listen to his soft tones through the telephone was to be somehow more closely connected to home; to Dot and all the people and places who now seemed so far away. It was unthinkable that it had only been a few days. It felt like months.

"Miss Fisher, I went to find Miss Hill."

"And…?"

"She wasn't in." Phryne slumped, and mouthed the message to Jack. She saw her disappointment mirrored in his face.

"I've left a message with her landlord and I'll go again tomorrow."

"Good. We just need to know if she's had any correspondence from anyone interested in the case. Particularly anyone by the name of Ezra Hill."

"Yes, Miss. I have it all written down here."

"If she wants to speak to the Inspector or myself directly, bring her to the station and telephone us here."

"I will, Miss."

"How's Dot, Hugh?" Dot was eight months pregnant, and blooming, the last time Phryne had seen her, but it had been a few days.

"She's keeping well, thank you, Miss."

"Give her my love, please."

"Of course. I'll telephone when I've spoken to Miss Hill."

"Thank you, Hugh."

"Goodbye, Miss."

"Goodbye."

A Constable had brought in a message for Jack when Phryne had been on the telephone, and she looked at him enquiringly.

"The City Jail in Melbourne. They say they don't keep any record of the correspondence of deceased prisoners."

"Damn. I suppose that would have been too easy. What's next?"

"I have officers checking up on everyone who took that course. Other than that, we need to wait and hear from Miss Hill."

Phryne exhaled loudly and sank back in her chair. "I'm not good at waiting." She hated the thought that Myrtle might be in danger, after all those years being free of Foyle.

Jack looked at his watch. His stomach was still in knots knowing that Maisie was out there, but there really wasn't anything more they could do before morning. And he could tell that today, with all its Foyle flavoured leads, had taken its toll on Phryne. "It's late. We didn't have lunch. Should we go back to the hotel?"

Phryne looked at him moodily. "I wish…"

"What?"

She bit her lip, feeling unaccountably emotional. Speaking to Hugh had reminded her of everything that she was missing back in Melbourne.

"I wish we could just go home."

Her voice was quiet, childlike, and heart-breaking. Jack knew she didn't really mean it. She had to see this out, for her own sake as well as for Maisie Green and Myrtle Hill and who knew who else was affected by this. But just in this moment; tired, hungry and vulnerable, there was a small part of her that wanted to pretend all of this never happened and to go back to the people they were just two weeks ago.

He understood. He felt exactly the same way.

He sat on the desk in front of her and put his hand at the back of her neck, massaging the tension he found there. He drew her forward, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I know."

They stayed still for a few moments before he stood up, drawing her with him. "Come on. I know neither of us got much sleep last night. Let's leave March in charge for a few hours and get some rest."

She smiled softly. "I thought it was my job to persuade you of that?"

He tilted his head. "We can share it, can't we?"

"Alright." Her eyelids were very heavy. "Let's share it."

He wrapped an arm around her, leading her out of the office. "See? Perfect match," he murmured.

Phryne knew he was referring to her words yesterday, when they had both simultaneously worried about each other's wellbeing at the morgue. It had made sense then. It had always made sense.

But now, she looked anxiously into the face of the man who had persuaded her to go home, the way _she_ had persuaded _him_ yesterday. Was it really a perfect match? It hadn't always felt perfect today. Two people, with that much baggage? _Too much ballast for lift off_ , she had told Lyle Compton once. How much more they had collected since then. How much more likely that they would crash and burn…

But she pushed the thought out of her mind, annoyed at herself for even considering it. Who wouldn't have found the past few days difficult, after all?

She let Jack help her into the police car, and tried to relax into the hard passenger seat. She shut her eyes, imagining a hot bath at the Regency, room service, and then… she smiled dreamily. Then she'd prove to herself just how perfectly matched she and Jack were.

()

"Phryne?"

His deep voice penetrated her light doze easily, and she awoke with a start, noting with embarrassment that she had drooled slightly.

She tried to wipe her chin surreptitiously, but Jack fixed her with a smirk before getting out of the car and going around to open her door.

"Come on, Sleeping Beauty." He extended a hand, and she willingly grasped it and let him lead her into the hotel.

"I think you might have been right about my needing that rest…"

"Well, don't worry. You're right much more often than me, and I won't hold it against you."

They got into the elevator and leant back against the walls, Phryne yawning loudly.

"Straight to bed for you," Jack said, looking at her fondly.

Phryne smiled sleepily, reaching out to run her fingers down his tie. "Is that a promise?"

Laughing, Jack shook his head. "You're incorrigible."

The elevator arrived at their floor and they walked hand in hand down the corridor towards their suite.

Suddenly, Jack stopped and pulled Phryne's hand back sharply.

"What is it?" Phryne said, alarmed.

Jack's body was tense, and he was looking sharply towards the door of their suite. Phryne followed his eyes and saw the door was ajar.

A movement next to her, and she realised he was already pulling his gun out of his waistband; she hadn't even realised he'd been carrying it. She opened her bag quietly, extracting her own gold-plated pistol.

Jack nodded to her, and moving in unison they took up positions at either side of the door. With his gun held out in his right hand, Jack used his left to push the door open and entered the room, Phryne covering him at his back.

Jack scanned the room for intruders, and finding none, went to check the other rooms. Phryne kept a tight hold on her gun, but as she did a careful circuit of the room she stopped short in front of a large painting. The blood drained from her face, and the hand holding the gun dropped, her arms sagging by her side. She was dimly aware of Jack calling through that the rest of the suite was clear, but remained silent, staring in shock at the wall in front of her.

When Jack returned, he found her transfixed, stood stock still.

"Phryne?"

He followed her gaze to the wall and took a sharp intake of breath.

What had been a rather innocuous but probably expensive landscape painting was now adorned with a picture he recognised all too well. It was the police sketch of Janey. It was held to the painting by means of a large kitchen knife, which protruded from the forehead of the paper and ink girl.

But, as shocking as that sight was, it was nothing compared to the words below the picture, daubed crudely in red paint.

 _I WON'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE._


	11. Chapter 11

**Previously:** The detectives could find no trace of Ezra Hill, and an unpleasant message was left for Phryne.

 **Chapter 11**

Jack looked at the words dumbly, too shocked to move. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Phryne moving forward, as if in a dream, her fingers reaching out towards the knife.

He felt his brain click back into gear. "Phryne, don't!"

She jumped, as if she'd forgotten he was there. When she looked at him, her face was full of pain, as if the knife was piercing her, rather than the paper skin of her sister.

"There might be prints," he said, softly, catching her hand in his.

She nodded mutely, and looked back at the picture. He saw her swallow, and her jaw tighten. "I have to get out of here," she muttered, thrusting her gun into Jack's hands.

Outside in the corridor, she stood with her back to the wall, breathing heavily. Well, she was involved now, there was no denying it. Whoever was behind this couldn't have made it any more personal. The knife in the wall was a challenge, as real and dangerous as a gauntlet thrown down into this peace she had thought she had found for herself. She shut her eyes. Would she ever be free of this? Would she ever be free of Foyle?

A noise startled her, and she opened her eyes to see Jack locking the door of their suite. He walked towards her, and she noticed he was carrying her pistol and handbag, having already stowed his own gun back in his waistband.

His expression was calm but firm as he walked quickly towards her, putting the pistol into the bag as he did so. "We need to go down to reception," he said, his tone decisive. "Then I can call the station and we can see about changing rooms." He put the bag in her hands. "From now on, keep this on you everywhere you go, alright?"

He sounded stern, and she realised with a pang of embarrassment that she had just stalked out of the room totally unarmed. She nodded dumbly, and Jack put a hand on her elbow to encourage her down the hallway.

 _Thank God,_ she thought, _thank God he's being like this. Thank God one of us can hold it together when the other one can't._

 _So far,_ a traitorous voice whispered inside her head. She closed her eyes, the thought causing her physical pain.

"Phryne?" They were in the elevator now, and Jack was looking down at her with concern.

"I'm alright," she whispered. "I'm just…"

There was nothing he could say, so he simply pressed a kiss to her forehead and she closed her eyes gratefully, breathing in his reassuring scent.

The elevator stopped and she turned to the doors, squaring her shoulders and readying herself to face the world.

()

March had arrived and, obviously feeling bad about his earlier outburst, was he was doing his best to be as useful as he and Jack questioned the hotel staff.

Having got not much information from them, he turned to Jack.

"What does it mean? _I won't make the same mistake_."

The younger officer looked drawn but alert. He shot a glance at his partner, who was giving instructions about their belongings to one of the porters.

"You know her sister was one of Foyle's original victims?"

"Yes, she told me."

"Foyle was targeting girls with a specific birthday: 21st December, the same as his. Only Janey's birthdate was registered incorrectly. 21st December wasn't her birthday at all."

"Oh," March still looked confused.

Jack continued. "It's Phryne's."

"I see," March looked shocked. "So Foyle got the wrong girl."

Jack looked askance. "As far as that goes..."

"I'm sorry. I meant in terms of his own ideology."

"Yes."

March looked over at Phryne sympathetically. "Those obsessive types usually want to correct those sorts of mistakes."

"He almost did."

March turned back to Jack with raised eyebrows. "She didn't mention that."

Jack tilted his head in acknowledgement. It was just like Phryne to consider her near death an insignificant detail.

"And now someone else wants to correct it," March continued.

Jack nodded grimly. "Inspector, I need you to help me make sure that doesn't happen."

A frown made its way slowly onto the police officers face. "Jack… I'll do what I can, but I have every officer I can spare out looking for Maisie Green."

Jack rubbed his temples. He hadn't forgotten the missing girl. But Phryne was now very definitely a target too. How on earth was he supposed to keep her safe in the middle of all this?

March was looking awkward. "Look…" he drew Jack aside. "This isn't about earlier. I know I was out of line. But we're just a small police force…"

"I know, I know," Jack patted the older policeman on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll take care of this."

There was a pause. "How?" March asked incredulously.

Jack looked back at Phryne, his hands on his hips. The despondency he had felt earlier in the day had vanished. He couldn't afford to fall apart mentally now. He had a job to do.

He sighed. "I think I'm going to have to make myself deeply unpopular."

()

He stood as she entered the room, clad in a robe and still flushed from her bath.

"How are you feeling?"

"Cramped," she joked, raising an eyebrow. There had been no suites left for them to change to, no matter how much the hotel staff were trying to make things up to them. Phryne had said it didn't matter. Their suite had been locked after all, another room wasn't going to be any more secure. They may as well stay put. But Jack had seen through that bravado, and insisted on the change. He didn't want her to be staring at the wound in the landscape painting all evening. Plus, he argued, there were less places to hide in a double room than in a suite.

"I ordered some sandwiches," he gestured to a table behind him. "You haven't eaten all day."

"I'm not really hungry," Phryne replied. She went to put her bath salts back into her bag, and realised her luggage wasn't where she had left it. Scanning the room, she noticed the bag fully packed, near the door.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Are we going somewhere else?"

Jack put his hands in his pockets, bracing himself for the inevitable. "I'm not."

He saw her eyebrows raise in horror and a smile of irritated disbelief cross her face. "Jack…"

"Phryne," he stepped forward. "I want you to go back to Melbourne."

She laughed cynically and unwrapped the towel from around her head. She threw it onto the bed. "Is there really _any_ part of you that thinks that is going to happen?" she asked scathingly.

"Yes," Jack answered calmly.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to persuade you."

 _Because that's the only route open to me,_ Jack thought. _I can't force you, and God knows you won't do anything just because I ask it._

Phryne folded her arms across her chest, managing to look both defensive and offensive at the same time. "You're more than welcome to try!" she challenged.

Jack took a deep breath.

"You're a target now. You can't deny it. That was a message back there; it means you're next. I take that seriously."

"So do I!" Phryne said indignantly.

"Let me finish." Jack held up a hand and pointed towards the ground. "This is what I was afraid of. Right here. This. You becoming involved, because I knew that sooner or later you would catch this madman's attention and he would start coming after you. He's marked you out, Phryne, and I can't ignore that. This means police protection, guard duty, and in a little town like this that means taking men _off_ the search for Maisie Green. And for me, it means my attention is now split between trying find Maisie and trying to protect the woman I love. How am I supposed to do that, tell me that?"

Phryne was speechless, but just for a moment. He had chosen a good angle, practicalities over emotion. It was true. She _didn't_ want to be the cause of diverting any resources away from Maisie, especially not Jack's. But then…. "It doesn't need to be like that, Jack, I don't need all of that…"

"Don't…" Jack stepped towards her, his face white. "Don't ask me to give your safety any less consideration than I would anybody else's. _At least_ don't ask me to do that."

"Then don't ask me to do this, Jack!" She only realised she was shouting when she saw Jack's look of surprise. There was a pause as they both looked away from each other and took a breath, gathering their emotions.

"Don't…" her voice was softer now, measured. "Don't ask me to leave you. Please." Her words were aimed at the ground but he could see the emotion in her face.

He bit his lip. They stood close, but not touching. "The last thing I want right now is to be without you." Jack blinked furiously. "But everything is different now. What would happen if I made a mistake with Maisie's search, and she ends up like Lucy, because I was too busy worrying about you?I… I don't think I could live with that, Phryne."

She continued to avoid his eye. "I thought we needed each other. You and me… I thought… it was the only thing that's kept us going these last few days."

"It has been." He could hear the tremor in his voice, and he ran the back of his hand over his eyes angrily. "It has been. And the thought of not having you here is…" he trailed of, unable to express how much he had valued her these last few days. How supported, how loved he had felt, whenever he felt that dark shroud begin to settle and she had pulled him out of it. The idea of doing this without her was terrifying. But if she was a target, he didn't think he could do it at all.

"This killer has remained local," he continued. "As far as we know, he doesn't operate in Melbourne. If I know you're safe, and at home… at least if I know that, it will be worth it. And I'll…"

"You'll be able to concentrate on getting Tom Green his daughter back." Phryne unfolded her arms, and he could see her considering his words. Finally, she nodded. A shrug. A shake of the head.

"Alright." She sighed deeply and reached out to run her fingers down his tie. "You're right."

"You'll go back to Melbourne?"

She nodded, though it looked like the movement pained her deeply. He let out an exhale of pure relief and gathered her into his arms. "Thank you" he murmured. "Thank you."

She pressed her cheek into his chest. "I don't know what I've turned into. Letting you talk me into things. Honestly." Her voice was small and quiet.

He smiled against her hair. "Welcome to my world."

She gave a soft laughing huff. He stepped back from her, running his hands down her arms. "You could go and see Myrtle Hill yourself? She's more likely to talk to you, she knows you."

Phryne rolled her eyes at him. "Don't try and make it more palatable…"

"I don't need to. You know this is logical. If it was anyone else in your position you'd have agreed on the spot. Seeing Myrtle is just a benefit."

She didn't answer, but hooked her fingers into his belt loop. "I'll go and see her as soon as I get there."

"Thank you." They shared a kiss, before Phryne pulled away. "You don't expect me to go _now_ , I take it?"

"No." Jack started to undo his tie. "My concern for your safety does _not_ extend to me encouraging you to drive through the night after little sleep and no food."

"Good. Jack?"

"Mm?" He paused in his activities and turned to face her. He was arrested by the sudden gleam of determination in her eye.

She walked towards him. "As I still have one night left," she reached out and removed his hands from his tie. "I think I'd rather like to do that."

Jack relinquished his grip easily, knowing that he had neither energy nor the desire to argue this time.

"Have at it, Miss Fisher."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the delay in updates, my internet went down and so I've had to rather naughtily smuggle on a memory stick and post from work! Hopefully it will be fixed soon, if not the next update will be Saturday. Thanks for your patience and for all the lovely messages!

Gingham xx

 **Previously:** Phryne agreed to return to Melbourne and find Myrtle Hill

 **Chapter 12**

Jack woke slowly, gradually becoming aware of his aching muscles. The previous night's activities had taken their toll, and not just the stress and strain of the intruder in their suite. Phryne had dragged him into bed with a passion and intensity that had overwhelmed him, even after six months of what could only be described as furious and regular lovemaking (during which he was certainly no stranger to those emotions). But last night had been different. Confronted with the reality of being separated for an unspecified amount of time, and under such tense circumstances, they had devoured each other with unparalleled ferocity. It was as if they felt that if they held each other tightly enough, their fingertips would leave marks that would last until they met again. He felt his flesh had melted where she touched him, as if he had Phryne literally burned into his skin.

And yet already, he wanted her again. He reached out for her, feeling across the bed, sitting bolt upright when he encountered only empty sheets.

"Phryne?"

"I'm here." She was walking out of the bathroom, wrapping up her toiletries to finish up the last of her packing.

"You're ready?"

She was already fully dressed for the day, resplendent in a cream coloured coat that seemed to catch the light in an effervescent way. She pulled on a matching cloche, framing her head like a halo.

"It's an eight hour drive. If I have to go, I want to get there as soon as I can."

There was a pang of hurt in her voice as she said the words _"if I have to"_.

"Phryne…" Even though he knew it was the right decision, Jack still felt guilty at sending her away.

She sat down on the bed next to him. "It's alright, Jack. I know it's for the best." She put a hand out to him, smirking as she swept his sleep-tousled hair off of his forehead. "But if I hang around much longer I'll never leave."

He gazed at her, astonishingly beautiful as always, but somehow more so this morning; golden in the morning light. He was sending her off of the battlefield, he thought, and yet she looked like an Amazon, proudly marching off to fight.

"Are you going to sit there staring or are you going to come and see me off properly?"

Angel or Amazon, Jack thought. Either way she was maddening.

He pulled on some clothes and carried her bag down to the hotel entrance, where a valet was pulling the Hispano into the driveway. Phryne's beloved car had been underused this trip, Jack thought. Whilst they had been here, they had used a police car borrowed from the Port Leopold force; not as sleek or powerful as the Hispano, but not as likely to draw attention either. Despite Phryne's reluctance to undertake this journey, he would tell she was looking forward to getting back behind the wheel. She drew her fingers across the door as the valet stepped out, greeting the car with a loving caress that might have worried Jack if he had been an insecure sort of man.

He lifted her bag into the back of the car. "You'll call me when you get home?"

She shook her head. "I'm going straight to City South. If Hugh still hasn't seen Myrtle Hill by then I'll find her myself."

Jack nodded. That seemed logical, given their concern. "Well, call me when you know anything. You can leave a message with the station if I'm not there."

Phryne nodded, her throat constricted. "If I don't speak to you, will you telephone the house before you go to bed? It doesn't matter how late." She suddenly couldn't bear the idea of not speaking to him that day.

"Of course."

Phryne moved closer to him and fiddled with his tie. "You _will_ go to bed, won't you? Promise me."

"If you promise to stop and eat something on the way. And stop if you get tired. And don't drive too fast."

Phryne gave him a look that clearly said 'don't push it'. Jack smiled and circled her waist with his arms. "I'll settle for two out of three."

She looked at him from under lowered eyelids. "You'd better, Jack Robinson." She reached up for a kiss, and they melted into each other. Jack deepened the embrace hungrily, displaying more passion that he would normally allow in public, but not caring who could see them.

When they broke apart, she was panting slightly. He took advantage of her weakened state to press one, then two more kisses to her lips. He pulled himself back to look at her, using one hand to push her hair behind her ear.

"You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you, Miss Fisher." His voice was thick with passion.

Phryne felt tears spring to her eyes, and she swallowed hurriedly. "Yes, I do." She threw her arms back around his neck for a short but violent hug, and then planted a final kiss on him. "I have to go," she said, knowing that if she delayed much longer she'd never leave.

He nodded wordlessly, watching her climb into the car. He shut the door firmly, his face set in a concentrated frown. "Be careful," he said softly.

"You too."

He stepped back as she pulled away from the hotel and watched her drive away.

()

At the Port Leopold police station, little progress had been made.

"I just don't understand it!" March was practically tearing his moustache out. "We found the other girls so quickly."

"Maybe he's learning from his mistakes," Jack mused. Ezra Hill, or whatever his real name was, had been desperate to find out about the burial sites. What if, denied the information he sought, he was merely learning by doing?

Jack quickly described the Melbourne burial sites to March and his men, wondering if Ezra Hill could have found out some other way and replicated the location here in Port Leopold. Doing so inevitably brought thoughts of Phryne into his head; her grief as her sister's small body was uncovered, the way she had reached out for him. He pushed the thoughts aside. He had asked her to leave so that he could concentrate on finding Maisie. If he kept thinking about her, she might as well not have gone. At least then he wouldn't feel so…

Alone, he thought, as March's men rushed out to look for signs of burial activity at any likely locations. That's what he was now. Here in this town where nobody knew him, nobody knew what he had done in the past, how he had let people down…

He shut his eyes, berating himself. She'd only been gone a few hours and already he was letting blame take him over again.

 _Come on, Jack. You sent her away to keep her safe. If you turn back into a blithering wreck, she'll only have to come back and scoop you up._ _Then where will you be?_

She had done what he had asked. Now he had to do his part.

"Bring me all the information we have on the Egyptology course attendees," he shouted. "I want to cross reference it with everything we know!"

"But we've…"

"Again!" Jack directed his retort to the hapless Sharp. He turned back to the reams of butcher's paper on the walls. "The answer is here. Somewhere."

()

"Miss Fisher!"

She stepped through the doors of City South, her heart bursting with warmth at the sight of Hugh's relieved and excited face.

"Hugh!" She thought about resisting the urge to hug him, but, as was her wont, gave in to joy. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"The Inspector telephoned and said you'd be coming," Hugh said, his face flushed by her unexpected embrace.

"How was he?" Phryne asked eagerly. It felt like an age since she's seen Jack.

"Uh, fine, Miss." Hugh looked puzzled. "I thought you had just seen him this morning."

"I did." Phryne decided to leave that there. She understood Hugh's confusion. She and Jack weren't normally the sort of couple to enquire after each other's wellbeing after just a few hours of separation. But then, she thought, this week had been anything but normal.

"Dottie was so excited when I told her you were coming back."

"Dear Dot!" Phryne's face lit up. "Is she well?"

"Very well, Miss. Dr. Macmillan says she's coming on nicely. Dottie's mum says it must be a boy, because she's had itchy palms…"

Phryne rolled her eyes. That woman.

"…but Dr. Mac said that that was nonsense."

"Good for Mac."

"I was surprised to hear you were coming, Miss." Hugh reddened again. "I mean, not that it's not nice to have you back. But what with this case being about Foyle…" his eyes widened as Phryne looked at him sharply. "…I mean, I just assumed, with you asking about Miss Hill, that it must be, and I was surprised, you know, that would have come back without solving it, although obviously…"

Phryne held up a hand to stop his waffling. "Never mind that for now, Hugh. Have you seen Miss Hill?"

"She called this morning, Miss."

"What?" Phryne almost leapt at the phone message he held out.

She wanted to speak to you. I told her you were on your way."

"What else did she say?"

"Just that someone had contacted her about the case, and it had made her uncomfortable. She didn't say more than that. I have her address here."

Phryne took Myrtle's address from Hugh in exchange for hurried but heartfelt promises to drop in and see Dot just as soon as she'd finished.

She didn't want to admit it, she thought, as she rushed back to her car; but it had felt good to be back there. Back in her (because she thought of it as hers) familiar police station, Hugh standing sentinel at the desk and the same 'wanted' pictures glaring down at her from the noticeboard. She had felt her equilibrium, so unsettled by her time in Port Leopold, slowly come back to her, her poise and determination bolstered by being in friendly territory. She felt safer, less tense, and more aware of her own power. They would solve this. She and Jack together, even though they were apart. It pained her to think of him still stuck in that place, still working away in that unfamiliar station. For a brief moment, she had fixed her eyes on the painted name on his office door, trying with all her might to let him know she was alright, to somehow transmit some of her re-found confidence back to him.

She rolled her eyes as she remembered that. What a ludicrous thing to do. Far better to find Myrtle and get some clue from her that could bring this case to an end once and for all.

()

"Sir!"

"What is it, Sharp?"

"I know you wanted all the information we have, Sir, and I don't think this was put with the rest of the articles…"

"What is it?" Jack asked impatiently. The search of potential burial sites had yielded no results. It was dark now, and again, there was little to be done till morning. Another night Tom Green had to go to bed without knowing where his daughter was.

"Isn't this the woman you were trying to contact in Melbourne, Sir?"

"Where did you get this?" Jack found himself holding an article, complete with large picture of Myrtle Hill.

"It was with the cuttings from the _Courier_ , Sir?"

"Why wasn't it with the rest?"

"It wasn't specifically about the Foyle case, Sir. It was a series about women who had escaped violent criminals. But you said to go over everything again, Sir, so I…"

"Thank you, Sharp," said Jack, cutting him off. He gave him a curt nod, which, as little as it was, seemed to send the young constable into paroxysms of pride.

He settled down to read the article, which in itself, was not much. It was a sensationalist account of woman through the ages who had escaped murderers, amongst which Myrtle Hill was named in connection to the Foyle case. It was a highly romanticised account, during which much was made of her "miraculous" appearance in a church, and many details were left out. But Jack was more interested in the details that had been left in; pertinent information which would make it very easy to track Miss Hill down today.

His eyes were drawn to the large picture of Myrtle, obviously chosen because she was the most attractive of the women described in the article.

Below it was written. _"Myrtle Hill: whose brave account of her childhood ordeal put a killer behind bars."_

A cold fear gripped Jack. "Sharp!" he shouted, shooting up from his seat.

"Sir?"

"I need to place a call to City South! Now!

()

Phryne closed the door of the Hispano behind her. It wasn't the best part of town to leave the car, but she was too focused on finding Myrtle to worry too much about that.

She found the address quickly, a dilapidated boarding house. There was no outside lock, so she went directly inside, looking for the flat that Myrtle rented.

She found the right door, and tapped on it. "Miss Hill?"

The door gave slightly, opening under even her gentle knock. Surprised, she pushed it again.

"Miss Hill?" she called again, not wanting to intrude.

She found herself in a small, one roomed flat, a single bed and a washbasin in front of her. Immediately, it was clear there had been a struggle. The bedclothes were disturbed, and several possessions had been flung around; cutlery on the ground, clothes thrown in a corner, a single shoe lying haphazardly on the floor. As Phryne looked around in horror, she noticed something odd about the shoe. It was resting at an angle, as if it wasn't sitting right. An icy cold fear gripped her heart as she walked around to the other side of the bed, to see that the shoe was attached to a leg.

The leg belonged to Myrtle Hill, who was lying on the floor, a knife handle protruding from her head as her unseeing eyes gazed up at Phryne.


	13. Chapter 13

**Previously:** Phryne made a horrific discovery back in Melbourne

 **Chapter 13**

Phryne staggered out of the block of flats, her head swimming with the image of Myrtle dead on the floor. She prided herself on keeping a clear head at crime scenes, no matter how gruesome. But a sickening wave was crashing over her and she had no idea how to stop it. She walked down the street, her hand blindly groping against the row of houses, feeling her skin bumping roughly off the brick.

 _He's here._

The longer she had been home, the more the crimes had felt like a Port Leopold problem. Jack kept telling her it was a local crime, and it had _felt_ local. How could the killer be here too? But that was ridiculous, she realised. She was here, after all. Maybe he had followed her? Maybe she had followed him?

 _Too late. I was too late._

"Miss Fisher?"

She became aware of a police car pulling up beside her, Hugh jumping out and grabbing hold of her.

"Are you hurt?" His eyes were filled with horror, and she looked down and saw her hands were covered with blood. She must have touched her. The memory of the knife handle came back to her and she suddenly knew she was going to be sick. She wrenched her arm from Hugh's grasp and ran down the street, grabbing hold of a lamppost and heaving her guts out.

When she turned round, Hugh was behind her, awkwardly holding out a clean handkerchief. She took it and wiped her mouth, painfully aware of how their circumstances had been so clearly reversed. Normally he was the one losing his dinner, the poor boy.

"Miss Fisher?" he said again.

"I'm not hurt," she managed to answer, her voice rough.

"What happened?"

She raised an arm to point at the building she had come out of. "Flat 9," she whispered.

Hugh turned to his colleague, a young constable Phryne didn't recognise. "Stay with her." He disappeared down the street and into the house.

()

The first call was to request a vehicle to remove the body.

The second call was to Port Leopold police station.

"Collins?" The answering voice was anxious.

"Inspector. Myrtle Hill has been murdered, Sir."

There was dead silence on the other end, so Collins continued. "Cause of death looks to be a knife in the side of the head, Sir, but Dr. Macmillan will do the post-mortem tomorrow. We'll know more then."

"Where did you find her?" Jack's voice sounded strained.

"At her home, Sir. But it wasn't us who found her. It was Miss Fisher."

"Is Phryne there?" Collins was sure there was a note of panic in his superior's voice.

"Yes, she's here. Do you want to speak to her, Sir?"

Collins nodded at the answer he received and held out the receiver for Phryne.

"Jack?"

"Phryne…" His voice was tense, worried.

"You knew she was in danger, didn't you? Hugh said you telephoned…"

"Yes." There was a pause on the other end. "I found an article in the paper not even an hour ago. It would have been so easy for him to find her if he'd read that. If I'd have just found it earlier…"

"Don't…" She wanted to say more. She wanted to remind him that they couldn't afford to do 'what ifs', the two of them. They'd trained themselves not to; they'd had to. There was too much to regret, and too much to lose. But Hugh's eyes were on her, and she was all too aware of the nervous family whose home they had barged into to use the telephone. When Jack was there, she could forget all that. She could block the rest of the world out and speak to him like they were the only two people there. She loved it; revelled in it. They could find intimacy in a crowd full of people, just lost in one another's eyes.

But without him in front of her, she couldn't do it. His voice, deep and resonant as it was, couldn't fix her as it usually did; she couldn't block anything out, least of all the thought of Myrtle's body just down the corridor.

She could hear him breathing, and knew they were both struggling with what to say. Hugh turned away to speak to another constable, and Phryne took the opportunity to say something real to Jack.

"He's here, Jack."

It was the first thing that came into her head, and it was grossly inadequate. Who did she mean – Hugh?

But Jack knew instantly what she meant; that the threat had followed her to Melbourne and struck again.

"I know," he said again, his voice catching as he heard her fear. "I'm sorry."

She was about to tell him that it wasn't his fault when Hugh turned to her, with something in her hand. His expression told her he had something to say.

"I have to go, Jack, Hugh's found something."

"Alright. Will you tell him to call me here when he gets back to the station?"

"Yes," replied Phryne, her attention already on Hugh. "I'll speak to you later."

"I can call the house – " Jack began, but she had already hung up. He replaced the receiver, feeling discombobulated. It was hell, trying to converse with her like this, over hundreds of miles and under such pressure. He had never been much good on the telephone anyway; he found it difficult to say what he meant when he couldn't see her. When she was in front of him, it was the opposite; he had to struggle to remember they weren't alone. From their first meeting, she had wilfully captivated him in each interaction, determined to pull him into her orbit. It was he who always remained grounded, he who doggedly anchored himself to reality, checking his behaviour and his words to make sure he never became so entranced he would let too much slip. All those times she had been in front of him and he had to strain to see anything other than her.

But just now, it had been like he couldn't find her at all.

()

Phryne sat in her parlour, cradling a glass of whiskey. Mac was there, and reluctant to leave. She was noticeably worried about the dark circles under her friend's eyes and the tense, worried atmosphere she carried with her. Her unease had not been lessened by the story of Phryne's time in Port Leopold.

"I can't believe it's only been a week since I saw you," she said, the two of them curled into opposite sides of the window seat. "You've been through such hell."

Phryne had shook her head sadly, taking a drink. "What I've been through is nothing compared to what the families of those girls have."

 _You've been through that too_ , Mac thought, but didn't say. It was probably something that she did need to talk about, but not now, not with a killer to catch and the Inspector hundreds of miles away. "How is Jack bearing up?" she asked instead. "It must be a difficult case for him too – another little girl missing."

Phryne took another drink, because that was easier than answering the question. But Mac's blue eyes remained fixed on her, her brow furrowed with concern.

Phryne relented. "He's… kept going. Somehow. He's had to."

"Hardly a glowing report," said Mac worriedly.

"It was never going to be easy, Mac. The first time this happened." Phryne sounded almost tearful and she blinked angrily. "I've tried to help, but…"

"It's not been easy for you either," agreed Mac. Sod's law, she thought, that the first really difficult case for Jack after his near breakdown ( _No_ , thought Mac, _let's be honest, full on breakdown_ ) was one that was intrinsically linked to the most tragic episode in Phryne's past. So, now a case where both of them needed the other's full and untrammelled support became the very reason neither of them could give it.

"I'm trying!" Phryne argued, when Mac tried to express this in the nicest possible way. "We've both been there for each other, we couldn't have done it otherwise!" She looked angry, as if Mac was questioning their relationship. Too angry, Mac thought. As if she'd had this thought already.

"I know you have, darling. I'm not blaming anyone… other than this lunatic. I'm just saying it's bound to be difficult. How do you keep your fear for each other out of this case?"

Phryne gave a mirthless snort. "We haven't." She got up from the seat and went to the drinks trolley to refill their glasses. "Why do you think I'm here?"

Mac sat up straight. "Well. I did wonder. But I can't blame him for wanting to keep you safe."

Phryne stood with her back to Mac, her hand frozen in action over the decanter. "I… I thought it was logical. I thought we had been doing all the right things, all the way through this. But now…" Phryne's shoulders began to shake slightly, and Mac moved over to stand behind her, unsure of what to do.

"…I don't know what's logical or what's not," Phryne continued, her words coming in shaky sobs. "From the moment we arrived in that bloody town, everything was been upside down. We've been lucky so far, when one of us falls apart the other one is there, so nobody's noticed how much of a mess we are… but that can't last, and what if we've already made a mistake? Jack would never forgive himself if he did that, and I can't even concentrate on him because this bastard has his sights set on me now…"

"Phryne…" Mac put her arms around Phryne's shoulders, coming to stand close behind her. "It'll be alright. You'll get him, like you always do, and you and Jack will be fine."

"But what if we aren't? What if this is just too much? All these things that happen, they change us, and I don't know who we'll be on the other side! Even now, I get angry at him for no reason, when it's not his fault, when it's just…."

Phryne dissolved into sobs, and Mac held her tighter. "That's understandable, darling. You two are under so much pressure right now. But you're the strongest people I know, and you'll get through this."

Mac was confident. When she first met Jack, she could never have imagined Phryne falling for someone like him. So staid, formal, almost boring. But the more she got to know him, the more she saw someone who was strong, upright, and able to match her oldest friend punch for punch. She had watched their developing relationship with amusement, knowing there was a strong attraction on both sides but knowing also that Phryne would be reluctant to give up her wild lifestyle in favour of staying home with Jack. It was a shame, she'd thought, because in a way she thought that was what she was looking for. Not an excuse to stop partying; not even Jack Robinson could make her want to stop that! But home. That's what he could be.

And against, all the odds, that was what he had become. She would never admit it to either of them, but she had all but given up hope after the Lucy Cosgrove case. Phryne might help him recover, take care of him and shepherd him carefully back into the world. But how could someone so damaged ever be ready to match Phryne, to be the strength she pretended she didn't need?

But over the last six months, Mac watched her friends cement a relationship that had never been inevitable, or even likely, but was all the stronger for the things that had tried to keep them apart. Their loyalty, their love, their partnership had been tested as most marriages never would be; and all of that before they'd even spent the night together. Theirs was a strength forged in the heat of some unimaginable trials. How could one more set them apart from each other?

But, looking at Phryne, Mac was scared. She'd never seen her this desperate, not even when Jack was at his lowest after the Cosgrove case. If Phryne thought that this might be the rod that broke them…

Phryne had stopped shaking, and raised a hand to wipe her face. "I don't know if we can do this together, Mac. I don't know if we can do anything together anymore."

Mac twisted her around to look her in the face. She really was pale. "Maybe you should stay here," she suggested softly. "Maybe you just need some time apart. Leave this case to the Port Leopold police."

Phryne rolled her eyes. "There's five of them," she exaggerated, though not by much. "And I can't abandon Jack now. I have to go back."

Mac nodded. She hadn't been expecting anything different. "Then I prescribe an early night," she said. "If you try and get back in that car with anything less than four hours sleep I'll have you committed."

Phryne gave a weak smile. She didn't doubt Mac's threat.

"You'll do the post-mortem first thing?" She asked as she followed Mac out to the hall.

Mac was pulling on her coat and hat. "First thing," she agreed. "I'll 'phone it through to Port Leopold if that's the best thing to do?"

The telephone rang, and Mr Butler quickly came to answer it, not wanting to disturb the two friends.

Phryne nodded at Mac. "Thank you."

Mac looked at her. She hadn't told Phryne the real reason she was so concerned. She had only seen Phryne this worried and upset a few times before. It was nearly always the precursor to some sort of rash action. Running away when she was 16. Enlisting as an ambulance driver when she was 18. And later, giving herself up to Foyle in return for Jack and Jane. She pulled her into a hug, hoping her instincts were wrong and that this case would be solved quickly and painlessly.

A soft cough interrupted their embrace, and both woman looked towards Mr Butler, who stood holding the telephone receiver.

"Inspector Robinson is on the telephone, Miss."

Phryne looked hesitantly at Mac, who gave her a stern glance. "Speak to him." With that, she planted a firm kiss on her friend's cheek, and was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Unfortunately my internet is still out, but I'm hoping to update as frequently as I can. Hop you're all having lovely weeks!

Gingham xx

 **Previously:**

Phryne dealt with the aftermath of finding Myrtle, and had a heart to heart with Mac.

 **Chapter 14**

Phryne took the receiver from Mr Butler and watched him retreat quickly down the hall. She settled herself in the chair beside the telephone table before bringing the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Phryne?"

Phryne bit her lip. Despite her words to Mac (or perhaps, because of them), she felt her heart lift at hearing his voice. They were both calmer now; the shock of Myrtle's murder had had time to sink in, and more importantly, she wasn't stood in a random house with assorted policemen and neighbours watching her.

She paused, listening to him breathe, then let out a small laugh. "Was it only this morning I saw you?"

"Feels like an age." He sounded tired, but calm.

"I know."

"How are you?"

"I'm..." Phryne trailed off, remembering her breakdown to Mac moments earlier. "I'm exhausted. And…" She wanted to be honest, but she didn't want to upset him with how bleak she had allowed her thoughts to get. "I… I'm finding hard to see a way out of all this," she admitted. It was the truth, at least, if not the whole truth.

"We're going through everything again, Phryne. We're combing through train bookings, trying to see who on our various lists hasn't been in Port Leopold the last couple of days. We'll get him."

He sounded almost confident. Phryne guessed that this murder had put him on more familiar footing. At least here, there was a body to examine, a crime scene to analyse, the possibility of some actual leads. Phryne smiled. Jack was an investigator after all. And a good one.

"Did Hugh tell you about the letter?" she asked. Hugh had found a note in Myrtle's pocket, a letter addressed to her asking her for further details about Murdoch Foyle. The letter had been signed Ezra Hill.

"Yes. Same return address. I've asked Hugh to question her friends and family, see if she mentioned anything."

She shut her eyes as his voice washed over her, his deep tones detailing the rigorous search of the scene and the other clues that had been found. She found his voice and the process calming, reminding them of countless cases before, cases they had solved together.

Maybe Mac was right. Maybe they would be alright.

She felt a heavy surge of love and affection for him. She desperately wanted to be with him.

Jack was wondering aloud why Myrtle hadn't gone to the police with the letter.

"She didn't realise she was in danger," replied Phryne.

"Mm." There was a pause. "What's your plan?"

"I'm driving back tomorrow." She cut off any possible retort. "No arguments this time."

"I have no intention of arguing. Not only is my advice demonstrably counterproductive, I have to admit I can't wait to see you."

"Likewise." But she had heard the note of guilt. "You did what you thought was right, darling."

"Phyrne… If I'd… If I thought that you… the last thing I ever would ever do is put you in danger, you know that, don't you?"

Phryne sat up straight, alarmed at the contrition in his voice. "Of course I do."

"If I'd thought there was any danger at all in Melbourne, I would never have sent you home."

"Jack…" Phryne rushed to reassure him. "Not even you could have sent me anywhere if I didn't think it was the right decision. I wanted to find Myrtle. I'm just sorry I was too late." Her voice broke. "All those years having escaped Foyle, and now this…"

"Phryne…" Jack sounded upset. "I… I wish I could be there."

"I know," Phryne smiled, blinking back tears. "I've been imagining it."

"Have you?"

"Yes." She looked through the parlour doors. "You're standing in my parlour now. Like you always used to. Leaning against the mantelpiece and telling me not to be so scared."

"I always was a dreadful hypocrite."

"For being scared too? Or for just leaning against the mantelpiece all those times you wanted to ravish me senseless?"

There was a huff of laughter. "Both."

"Well. I can forgive you the first crime at least."

"I'd be willing to repay both if you can get here quick enough."

"What happened to wanting me to drive slowly?"

"We've already established I'm a hypocrite."

"Yes." Phryne smiled widely, the short round of back and forth having done much to raise her spirits. "But I love you anyway."

"I love you too."

Phryne glanced at the clock. It was after midnight. "I should go to bed. Mac ordered me to get a good nights' sleep."

"I believe you gave me the same order."

"Shall we both take our medicine then?"

"Seems like a good idea. Phryne…"

"Yes?"

"Don't be angry, but I've asked for a police guard outside your house."

Phryne giggled. "I'm well aware of that, Jack. Mac and I have been watching them all night. And I'm not angry."

"Good. I just want you to be safe."

"I know. And you shouldn't worry. Mr Butler is armed to the teeth."

She could hear the smile in his voice when he answered. "I never have any worries where Mr Butler is concerned."

"Just me?"

"Endlessly."

Phryne grinned, but she felt her smile fall as she thought back to her conversation with Mac. How long could they go on, worrying about each other, day after day?

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, dismissing the thought. She'd never get to sleep with ideas like that circling her head.

"See you tomorrow, sweetheart."

It was an endearment he used so rarely that it still made Phryne's stomach flutter. She felt tears fill her eyes as she pressed a kiss to the mouthpiece, something she would never have done if anyone had been watching.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

They hung up, and Phryne climbed the stairs, feeling somewhat peaceful.

Hopefully, she thought, the feeling would last long enough for her to get some sleep.

()

"Inspector Robinson?"

Jack was slightly slow to respond to the shout. He had fulfilled his promise to Phryne and gone back to the hotel the previous night in an attempt to get some rest. But the bed had felt cold and empty without her, and his own head too full of nightmares and demons for him to get any real sleep. Still, he was showered, and shaved, and in a clean suit, so he supposed that was something.

"Inspector Robinson?"

"Yes?"

A constable handed him a note. "A telephone call from a Miss Shawcross, sir. She says she's going to come and see you this afternoon."

Jack studied the note with interest. This was something. Maybe the _Courier_ journalist had been back in touch with Ezra Hill?

He was in the reception area filling D.I. March in when the door burst open and he was aware of a figure clad in a black trouser suit and familiar black beret.

"Could you excuse me, please, Inspector," Jack said, barely able to look at March. He walked over to Phryne, his eyes wide.

"How can you be here?" he asked incredulously. "It's barely one o'clock. I didn't expect you till this evening!"

Phryne shot a polite smile at March before pulling Jack into an empty back office. "Don't expect me to tell you, Jack," she said, shutting the door behind her. "As an officer of the law, you're required to report any traffic violations."

He gave her a look as she pulled off her beret and smoothed down her hair.

"Oh, all right," she relented. "I left at five this morning." She moved closer to him and ran her fingers down his tie, noting with relief that it was a different one from the morning before. "I just wanted to be here."

Jack exhaled slowly and gathered her into his arms. "I'm so glad you are," he admitted, breathing her in.

She felt the warmth of his chest for a few moments before pulling back to kiss him. Once they had broken apart, she studied him.

"You look exhausted," she said worriedly. "Did you get any sleep?"

Jack's hands went to her hair, fingering the black strands framing her face. "I went back to the hotel. I went to bed. I even put pyjamas on."

"That's not what I asked," she said, tightening her grip on his waist.

"I slept. For an indeterminate amount of time. That's probably the best I can do," he said with a shrug. He broke away from her to root around a desk, found a document and handed it to her. "Mac called through the post-mortem report on Miss Hill."

She took it, reading the top line. Cause of death had been a knife to the head. Mac had noted that this was a particularly difficult method, even with the paralysis drug that had been found in her system. It had to mean something.

"It was a message. The knife."

"I know." Jack nodded. "It's like the knife in our suite."

 _The one through my sister's head_ , thought Phryne. _The one telling me I'm next._

"It's about revenge," she said. "For escaping Foyle. For putting him away."

Jack noted with worry the dull tone her voice had taken on. "Vengeance is a powerful emotion," he said. "Too powerful. He could get careless. Slip up."

"He hasn't yet."

"He might have." He told Phryne about Miss Shawcross's message.

"He's clearly a _Courier_ reader," said Phryne. "All his information comes from there."

"Problem is that narrows it down to just about everyone in town," Jack said ruefully.

Phryne shrugged, desperate to find a lead. "It's all we have."

()

Verity Shawcross was something less than her usual held-together self when she arrived at the police station later that day. Her make-up and clothes were as pristine as ever, but the hand that held her purse was shaking and she was pale.

"What can we do for you, Miss Shawcross?" Jack asked politely, indicating a chair.

"I'll come straight to the point, Inspector, Miss Fisher," Miss Shawcross said as she sat down.

Phryne looked up, almost surprised Miss Shawcross was acknowledging her. "Please do," she said.

"I've heard from Ezra Hill." She began to look in her bag as Jack and Phryne shot looks of shocked anticipation at each other. "A letter arrived this morning. He wants to meet me."

Jack stood to grab the letter. This was an unprecedented lead.

"But that's not all," she said, her eyes darting nervously between the two. She held the letter back, away from Jack's outstretched hand, as if she were worried the contents would shock him. "He wants to meet you too."

Her words were directed at Phryne. Jack took the letter and opened it hurriedly.

 _"Dear Miss Shawcross,_

 _You have certainly had plenty to keep you busy in this little town of recent weeks. It might surprise you to know that I have a theory as to who the man behind these crimes may be._

 _Murdoch Foyle always promised he would be resurrected again. Given the nature of these sacrifices, it seems to me clear that he has made good on his promise._

 _This may seem farfetched, and I understand that as a journalist you require proof. I would be more than willing to provide such assurances if you were to meet me tomorrow (Wednesday) in Room 411 at the Bluebird Hotel on Cambridge Street at 11 o'clock._

 _But I'm afraid I do not offer my assistance in this problem for free. My own research into this matter is coming to an end, and I find myself without the final piece of the puzzle. I know you are in contact with the Honourable Phryne Fisher. I ask that she accompany you tomorrow, that we might all meet and discuss this matter together._

 _If I see anyone else there, I will not remain to help. But I assure you, you will find our meeting worth your while._

 _Yours,_

 _Ezra Hill."_

Phryne was reading over Jack's shoulder. "We'll pick you up at 10.30 tomorrow, Miss Shawcross."

Verity jumped up just as Jack wheeled round in horror. "You don't expect me to actually do this, Miss Fisher?" she cried.

"Phryne, wait," Jack implored.

But Phryne addressed Verity, her nerves tingling. Finally! A concrete lead! "Don't tell me you would turn down the chance of a front seat to the biggest scoop of the year, Miss Shawcross?"

"But…"

"Wait!" Jack said loudly, alarmed at the excitement in Phryne's voice. "Just wait. We need to talk about this."

Phryne wheeled round to look at him, surprised. "What is there to talk about? This is the first solid lead we've had!"

"It's an obvious trap," Jack argued. "He just wants to use Miss Shawcross to get hold of you."

"But we know that, so we can be ready!"

Jack sighed, his hands on his hips. He was aware of the curious eyes of the journalist on them. "Miss Shawcross, we need a bit of time to work this out. Would you mind…?"

Verity got to her feet, and there was an air of disappointment about her. "Of course. But if you wouldn't mind letting me know the outcome of this little disagreement? It does affect me too, you know."

"Of course," Jack replied, as Phryne rolled her eyes in irritation.

"You can contact me at the _Courier_ offices." With that, Miss Shawcross took her leave.

Phryne felt her anger build as she looked at Jack. The first good lead they had had in the whole case, and he was letting his fear get the better of him again. She determined to take a firm stand.

"I'm doing this, Jack."

"For God's sake, Phryne!" Jack's expression was one of incredulity. "Can't we just discuss this before you go charging off half-cocked?"

She shook her head, frustrated. Any discussion would be, she was sure, merely an expression of his fear for her, and opportunity for him to tug at her heart strings and make her change her mind. They couldn't afford that. She couldn't afford it, if she was going to take the chance to solve this case once and for all.

"Clearly, this Ezra Hill is just looking for an opportunity to get his hands on you," Jack argued vehemently, moving closer to Phyrne in an effort to get her attention. "And what about Miss Shawcross? I thought you didn't trust her!"

"I don't!" snapped Phryne. "But either way, I'm going to get closer to the truth tomorrow than we've got all week. I can't pass that opportunity up."

"I'm not asking you to - and will you stop talking like that!"

"Like what?"

"All that "I'm doing this" and "I can't pass this up." We're in this together, remember?"

"I don't remember us being together when I found Myrtle Hill with a knife in her head!" The retort came out like a whiplash and Jack noticeably recoiled.

Phryne stole a look his confused expression and swallowed a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I just meant this is something I need to do alone. You read the letter, he won't show up if anyone else is there."

Jack looked like he was still smarting from her earlier comment. "Fine," he said sullenly. "But you can at least let me come up with a plan to protect you. Even if you have to look like you're alone, you can't do this without back up."

Phryne had to agree with the truth of this, and nodded her assent. "Fine."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:**

We're nearing our climax, folks. Buckle up and settle in for some dramaz. And angst. I can't help bring the angst. Sorry :)

Thanks for the reviews and lovely words xxx

 **Previously:**

Phryne returned to Port Leopold and leapt at the opportunity to meet Ezra Hill

 **Chapter 15**

The silence in the car was stony as Jack pulled up to the Regency. The afternoon and much of the evening had been spent laying plans for the following day, getting March and his men involved with a stakeout of the Bluebird Hotel and organising the schedule for the meet.

Phryne had doggedly refused to enter into any discussion about whether or not meeting Ezra Hill was the right course of action, and instead limited her input solely to the logistics of the following day. Jack had tried to keep up their working relationship for the sake of the operation and their colleagues from Port Leopold, but he was now at the point where could feel his concern and frustration bubbling up into real anger.

It wasn't that he didn't think they should take advantage of the opportunity that they had been presented with. He had been as frustrated as Phryne with the lack of movement in this case, and there was no stone – especially one as big and promising as this! – they could afford to leave unturned. He just wanted to approach it with caution and make sure they had thoroughly thought it through from every angle before committing to a course of action. All of which he would have been more than happy to explain to Phryne, if she had been open to him having any input at all. Instead, an impervious barrier of bravado had come down like a shot. _I'm doing it. That's all there is to it._ She was so determined not to listen to him, to ensure he couldn't change her mind, that she couldn't even bring herself to hear his point of view.

Not that it was unusual for his advice or instructions to be wilfully ignored, he thought ruefully. But it seemed mildly hypocritical of her to spend months trying to build up his self-esteem, reminding him constantly how valuable his contribution to the Victorian police force was, how _good_ he was at what he did, only to throw it all in his face the second she disagreed with him on something.

He bit his lip as they climbed out of the car, trying to remind himself that this wasn't the real Phryne acting in this way. This wasn't just a normal case. She was scared, and that made her foolhardy. Determined to rush in and end it with scant regard for the consequences. He _knew_ that, he _knew_ her. He sighed. Surely he should have worked out how to handle it by now?

But underneath all of that, he realised, he was scared too. Terrified; that tomorrow could end not just with one missing girl that he couldn't find, but with Phryne gone too. The thought was almost too big to approach, but he knew that it was a plausible outcome, especially with Phryne acting as rashly as she was now.

It was, he realised, the exact thing he had feared at the beginning of this. The reason he had kept it all from her. He felt himself begin to panic. What if all his other fears came true too? Phryne, with a knife in her head. Finding Maisie too late, or worse, never finding her at all. Not finding the killer until it was too late; more horror, more recriminations…

"Jack!"

Jack jumped, realising they were at the door to their room. Phryne was looking at him expectantly. Of course. He had the key.

He opened the door, stepping back to let her enter first. His one victory today had been persuading her to go back to the hotel and get some sleep before embarking on this fool's errand tomorrow. But he was almost starting to regret it. At least at the police station, there were other people around and they had to pretend they weren't burning mad at each other. Now, in this small room, they faced a night with just each other's resentful silences for company, and Jack had experienced too many nights like that with Rosie to relish the prospect.

Phryne went straight into the bathroom, and Jack sank onto the bed, cradling his head in his hands. They had never been like this before. There had been arguments, of course, not to mention the blazing row they had had on her first night in Port Leopold – how long ago that seemed now! – but there had never been anything they couldn't resolve by talking, and never this utter loss of tenderness. What this case had done to them…

Phryne came out of the bathroom, and Jack rose to meet her.

She put up a weary hand, keen to ward off more argument. "Please, Jack. Let's…"

Jack shook his head. "I wasn't."

She nodded, waiting to hear what he was going to say.

"Phryne, I don't want to go into this thing tomorrow angry. That won't help anything."

Phryne shrugged, walking past him to find her pyjamas. "Who's angry?" She knew she sounded childish, but as far as she was concerned, she was the one keeping the clear head here. She was the one focussed on the case, and that meant blocking everything else out.

Jack looked disappointed and furious at the same time. "Nobody," he snapped back. "Nobody's angry. You're absolutely right. We're fine."

Phryne pulled her top off, grunting with frustration. "Do you really think sarcasm is helpful here?"

"Helpful? Are you being at all helpful?!"

Phryne ignored him, pulling the rest of her clothes off and getting quickly into her silk pyjamas.

"Phryne!" Jack, still fully dressed, was almost shouting. "Will you please talk to me!"

"There's no point," Phryne snapped, plumping up pillows with aggression.

"Whatever happened to ' _help, don't hide'_?"

Phryne almost laughed. "You tell me! It was you who broke that first! I told you couldn't fix it!" Now that she thought about, maybe that was what set them on the wrong track. That first breach of trust. Could they ever really have come back from that, even without all the mess that followed?

Jack took a deep breath and came to sit next to her on the bed. His movements were tentative, as if he worried she would go for him at any time. "I made a mistake, Phryne. I've been trying to make up for it. I can apologize again if you would like…"

"I don't…" Phryne sounded weary. "I don't need you to apologize again, Jack. I just meant… that when we are scared for each other, we do things and give advice that doesn't make sense. However much we can usually put our personal relationship to one side when we're working, we haven't been able to do that here. For lots of reasons." She plucked at the bedspread, avoiding his eyes.

"Do you mean my sending you to Melbourne?" Jack asked.

"Maybe. I just think it's better to be professional and focus on getting this case solved."

Jack bristled. "And that's what you think you're doing now? Being professional?"

Phryne looked up at the combative tone in his voice. "I think I'm focussing on getting the job done. I'm trying to be objective."

"Objective?" Jack shook his head in disbelief. "Phryne, that's the last thing you are in this case. This is about Foyle, Myrtle Hill, your sister…" he continued, not noticing Phryne's eyes begin to flash with anger. "How can you be objective? Can't you see that this death wish, this longing to fling yourself into danger is part of that? Can't you see how irrational it is?"

"It's you that's irrational!" Phryne got off the bed suddenly, causing Jack to edge back from her. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing the wall as she continued her tirade. "Haven't you noticed how determined you are that everything is going to go wrong in this case? Would you call that rational? You couldn't get me out of here quick enough when we found that knife. You were convinced Maisie was dead not even 24 hours after she went missing. And now you're convinced tomorrow will go wrong – you've given up before you even start, Jack! And you wonder why I don't want to hear about it? Why I don't want to be infected with that? Why I don't want to hear you going on and on about how you're going to get it wrong, how you're so convinced of your own failure you've practically ensured it! You might have resigned yourself to sitting around and waiting for this to become another Lucy Cosgrove, Jack, but I haven't!"

There was a silence that rang in both their ears. Jack had blinked at the mention of Lucy, but other than that gave no signal that what she had said had affected him. Guilt began to stab at Phryne. She wanted to cry.

"Jack, I'm sorry…" She reached out for him, but he moved suddenly, standing up and making for the door.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't stop or look back, just grabbed his jacket off the chair where he had left it, and was gone.

()

Her nerves were still jangling when he returned almost two hours later, closing the door softly behind him. The lights were off, and he moved silently through the room shedding his outdoor clothes quickly.

She sat up, ready to apologise unreservedly for her words. She would have given everything to take back what she had said in those heated moments. She knew she had over-reacted to what she perceived as Jack's attack on her state of the mind and she was understandably over sensitive to the subject of Foyle and Janey. But her response had been unforgiveable. Although it was true that she thought Jack didn't have enough faith in his own abilities, and the tendency to be pessimistic, she did _not_ go as far as to believe that he was in some way the author of his own misfortunes. And to bring Lucy into it, after all the months it took to put him together again… She almost didn't recognise what this case had done to her now.

She felt the bed shift as he sat down heavily on his side.

"Where did you go?" She asked the darkness softly.

"For a walk." His voice sounded raw. He swung his legs onto the bed, pulling the covers over him.

"Jack," she felt the tears falling before she'd even begun. "I'm so sorry. For what I said. It was unforgivable for me to bring Lucy into this, I… I can't even…"

"Phryne." His voice was soft and calm as he interrupted her, his strong hand finding hers beneath the covers. "The fact that you of all people would say something like that just convinces me even more that you're not yourself right now."

She was in no position to defend herself on that one. "Maybe you're right," she admitted after a long pause. "But I won't be until this is over, will I?"

"So you won't consider handling this any differently? We could stake out the hotel, follow him when he comes out…"

"No, Jack." She knew that any other option would risk them losing the trail. It had to be this way.

Jack nodded solemnly, as though he'd expected nothing different. "I told myself I'd try once more."

Phryne recognised an ultimatum when she heard one. Her heart stopped, but quietly, as if it was expecting to. "And what happens now?"

"I'll try and help the best I can," Jack answered. He didn't look too happy about it.

Her heart puttered back to life again. "Thank you." _And what happens then_? she thought. _Once this is over? Where does that leave us?_

"We should try and get some sleep," Jack said dully, and settled down into the bed. She followed suit, but there was a marked gap between them.

It was just a few inches, and yet at this moment, Phryne could figure out no way to cross it.

"Maybe this isn't going to work…" she murmured softly, the words having rumbled around her brain too long not to come out.

"That's what I've been telling you…" Jack sounded surprised, even hopeful, and Phryne realised all of a sudden that he'd got the wrong end of the stick. She remained on her side, facing away from him, closing her eyes as tears squeezed out from under her lids.

"I didn't mean tomorrow."

There was a pause. "What _did_ you mean?" She could sense him behind her. She turned onto her back to face him. "Nothing," she said quickly, reaching up to feel his heart through his chest. It was beating fast.

"Phryne?" His voice was tense, bleak. "What did you mean by that?"

"Nothing, I just…" she began to cry, and Jack's arms went automatically around her. "Can you just hold me? Please?"

She felt him nod against her and exhausted, she allowed her body to melt into his.

There was a good chance, she knew, that it could be the last time.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:**

Apparently our internet is getting fixed today! Fingers crossed and then I can stop smuggling and editing at work (bad Gingham!). I hope you guys are still enjoying the story! I know it is super angsty as we reach our denouement but my intention with this fic was to push these characters as they deal with some traumatic events and explore that drama a bit. I appreciate it might not everyone's cup of tea, but have faith! Things are always darkest before the dawn!

xx

 **Previously:** Phryne was determined to tackle Ezra Hill, and things were said.

 **Chapter 16**

Phryne got up as soon as she woke, thinking it might be practical to sidestep any attempt from Jack to tie up the frayed ends of last night's argument. They had gone to asleep in each other's arms, she reasoned. Under the circumstances that was probably the best they could hope for. As for tonight, and all the nights that followed? She honestly couldn't say. A big part of her couldn't imagine a life without Jack now. But another more insistent part argued that life wasn't going to be the same now anyway, that _they_ were never going to be the same after this.

And they still had today to get through.

Jack began to stir, and she kept one eye on him as she applied her make-up, watching him slowly focus himself. He sat up and dragged a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up.

"Morning," she said, appraising his reflection.

"Morning." His voice was rough and dry.

She turned round on her stool to face him properly. There was one thing she did want to clear up from the previous night. "I really am sorry about last night, about what I said about Lucy. I never meant…"

"It's alright," Jack said, his elbows resting on his knees. "I'm sure there was lots we didn't mean."

Phryne smiled uncertainly, wondering if he meant the questioning of their relationship she had tried to brush off before they went to sleep. Had she meant that? She wasn't even sure.

And that meant, she supposed, that she _was_ questioning it.

She shrugged to cover her confusion. "Either way, I'm sorry."

There was a flash of disappointment on Jack's face that suggested he had been looking for a more reassuring response than her momentary hesitation. He nodded in acknowledgement of her apology, then heaved himself off the bed. "I'm going for a shower."

()

They parked around the corner from the Bluebird Hotel, a street that couldn't be overlooked by any of the surrounding buildings. As he got out of the car with Phryne and Verity Shawcross, Jack nodded his approval to D.I. March. The location had been well chosen.

"Will someone tell me the plan now?" Verity asked. She had been persistently impatient ever since Jack and Phryne picked her up at the _Courier_ offices.

"We go up to Room 411 and get this bastard," Phryne answered calmly.

" _That's_ the whole plan?" Verity asked with horror.

Jack shot Phryne a censorious glance, knowing (hoping?) that her dislike of the journalist was making her more flippant than usual.

"We have cars stationed around the hotel, Miss Shawcross. D.I. March and I will be waiting across from the main entrance. Nobody will be able to get out without us seeing and following them."

The journalist seemed to relax slightly.

March looked at his watch. "It's almost 11 o'clock."

Phryne nodded, gesturing to Verity. "We should go."

They started to make their way towards the corner when Jack stopped them.

"Phryne!"

Phryne turned round as Jack took her arm, pulling her away from the others. "What is it?"

"Look," said Jack, lowering his voice and angling his head so his face couldn't be seen by March or Verity. "About last night… did you mean -?"

"Jack…" Phryne stopped him. "We can't do this now, darling. We'll talk about it later, alright?" Her eyes were suspiciously bright, but she brought a reassuring hand to his cheek. "Let's just concentrate on getting through this, yes?"

Jack nodded reluctantly, loathe to enter into this with so much left unsaid. There would be so many unanswered questions, if she…

He swallowed, unable to articulate his worst fears, even to himself. "Be careful," he said softly, knowing that it was a vain hope.

She nodded and gave his hand a quick squeeze before making her way round the corner to the hotel, Verity in tow.

Jack watched her go, smothering down his deep feeling of unease, before turning back to March. "Let's get into position."

()

Phryne and Verity made their way to the elevator, both eying the other nervously. The receptionist had informed them that a gentleman had arrived shortly before and requested the key to 411. He'd asked for his 'guests' to be sent straight up to the room.

"I take it you're armed?" Verity asked, as they boarded the elevator car.

"I'd be stupid not to be," Phryne replied.

"What if he's nothing to do with this case? Ezra Hill?"

"Do you think that's possible?"

"You have no idea how many people out there are fascinated by murderers. It's quite common. This could all be a coincidence, and you're about to go brandishing a weapon at some poor, lonely, confused individual!"

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out onto the carpeted hallway of the fourth floor. Phryne looked down the corridor, checking both directions.

"I don't believe in coincidences, Miss Shawcross."

()

Outside in the car, Jack's fingers were tapping nervously against the dashboard.

"You trust that Verity?" March asked.

"No."

"You think she might be involved with this Ezra Hill?"

"Maybe," replied Jack. "That's why we haven't told her everything about the operation."

March shrugged. "Still, I'm surprised you let Miss Fisher do this if you thought there was any danger."

Jack blinked slowly, and then turned to give March a look of such long-suffering resignation that March nodded his understanding quickly. "I see."

"It was either do it like this, or find out she'd done it on her own once everything had gone wrong," Jack explained, looking back to the hotel entrance. "At least this way I can help."

()

"You knock!" Verity hissed, her eyes flashing at Phryne.

Phryne felt herself get unaccountably annoyed. This was the woman who wanted to get involved in the action! It was no use backing out now!

"The letter was addressed to you!" she hissed back.

"It's you he wants!"

"Thank you for the reminder," Phryne muttered bitterly, as she knocked smartly on the door.

There was no answer. Phryne tried the handle. She wasn't completely surprised when the door opened, revealing an empty room. She drew her gun, and edged into the room.

"Wait here," she told Verity, and went to check the bathroom.

"Nothing," she reported when she came back.

"But the receptionist said…"

"He'll be here somewhere," Phryne said bitterly. "This is just part of his game." She started looking in drawers and opening cupboard, searching for some clue of the man they were about to meet.

Opening a wardrobe, she found a long, slightly smelly overcoat and a hat, an old fashioned trilby.

"I told you," Phryne turned round to look into Verity's nervous face. "He's here."

()

In the car, the older policeman was still trying to console Jack. "I know the type," March smiled, thinking of his wife. "Headstrong. Won't be told."

"Under normal circumstances. But this case…" Jack trailed off, wondering if he shouldn't be talking about this.

"It must have been difficult," March said understandingly. "But you two seem to be strong, if you don't mind me saying. Hopefully this will be over soon, and you can get back to normal."

Back to normal. Jack thought wistfully of home, of Jane and her books, of Mr Butler, of the lavender scented evening air. He had known, somehow, hadn't he? That he wouldn't be returning?

He frowned, and his voice was soft when he spoke. "I don't know… I don't know what will happen next."

()

"So what do we do now?" Verity asked, as Phryne took up position by the window. "Just wait?"

"Unless you have any better ideas?"

Verity flung herself into an armchair. "This is ridiculous."

Phryne looked back at her, amused. "You're a journalist. Don't you have to spend half your life waiting around for things to happen?"

"I chase stories, Miss Fisher," Verity answered smugly. "I don't wait for them to come to me."

Phryne shrugged. "Well, you certainly chased this one. And the Cosgrove case."

"I hope you don't expect me to apologise for doing my job."

"I don't expect you to apologise for anything," Phryne said absentmindedly. Out of the window, she could just make out Jack's car sitting on the corner.

"You don't like me very much, do you?" Verity asked. She didn't sound offended, merely interested.

Phryne looked back at her. "It's not personal. I've had some bad experience with the press, that's all."

"Your sweetheart's case?" Verity asked knowingly.

Phryne bristled at that description of Jack. "He's not my 'sweetheart'."

"What do you call him then?"

"He's my… partner," Phryne answered, wondering if that was true anymore.

"Your partner's case then."

Phryne leant back against the window. "The press vilified him, Miss Shawcross. Ignored the truth, just because it made a better story to try to destroy a good man."

"I'm not that sort of journalist."

Phryne scoffed and turned back to look outside.

"Really, I'm not. It's why I'm good at what I do. I have a knack for getting to the truth of the thing."

"That's what they all say."

"I didn't vilify him you know. The Inspector. It wasn't his fault. That man, that idiot who didn't report seeing Lucy being moved because he would have got caught playing away from home – he's the one who should have suffered."

Phryne looked around in surprise. She had always blamed that man for the delay in finding Lucy. Jack had never told her his name, and he had never been outed in the papers. By the time Jack had been absolved of blame, the press wanted to forget about the story, so this man had escaped. But apparently, he hadn't escaped the shrewd eye of Miss Shawcross.

"I agree," she replied haughtily, but with some thawing.

Verity smiled in response, then looked at her watch and sighed. "Pity we haven't got a bar. Then at least our time would be well spent."

Phryne considered for a moment, then pulled a hip flask out of her bag. "Here," she tossed it to Verity.

Verity's aquiline features lit up. "Now we have ourselves a party!" she exclaimed, unscrewing the flask happily.

Phryne sighed and turned back to the window. Jack's car was still there. It felt reassuring to know he was watching, whatever state their relationship was in.

"This must have been difficult for you two," Verity said after a while, as if she could read Phryne's mind.

Phryne couldn't be bothered to lie. "It has been," she said, her eyes still on the car.

"What happens when this is all over?"

There was a hint of kindness in her voice which threw Phryne off course. Covering her confusion and to save answering, she reached for the hip flask.

"Give me that."

()

 _I don't know what happens next._

"Jack?" March was looking at him with a concerned expression. "What did you say?"

"Nothing…" Jack sat up, embarrassed at his loss of composure. "Point is," he said, reverting to the previous conversation. "I couldn't have kept her out of this if I tried. And I did try."

"Well, we are where we are," said March, philosophically. "If it's any consolation, Verity Shawcross is exactly the same."

"Really?" Jack inquired without much interest.

"Oh, yes. I've known her for ten years. Always been the same, has her nose in everything, can't keep her out. We could _never_ have kept her out of this. She's everywhere."

"Mm". Jack idly considered the volume of coverage he had seen with Shawcross's by-line on it. The murders, the church fete, the article featuring Myrtle Hill, the Foyle case…

He sat up suddenly, his ears prickling with sudden heat.

The library competition. Clarissa's sister's beauty contest. Agnes's stable fundraising event.

March was right. She really was everywhere.

"That's how she picked them," Jack muttered, the rest of his face frozen with the sudden terrible realisation.

"What?" March looked confused, more so when Jack flung the door of the car open and started racing towards the hotel.

"It's her!" He just managed to catch as Jack flew off. "She's not involved with Ezra Hill! She is Ezra Hill. She's the killer!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Previously:** Phryne and Verity went to meet Ezra Hill, and Jack made a shocking realisation.

 **Chapter 17**

Verity Shawcross was excited. But 'excited', she realised, wasn't _really_ the word to best justify how she felt at this moment. Her entire body was hyper aware; she could taste the sharp burn of the whiskey she had swallowed – before, of course, adding the paralysis drug to the flask - feel the rasp of the threadbare armchair on her stockings, the cool steel of the blade in her garter; everything was heightened, everything was ultra-real. And yet, amid all these heightened sensations, her mind was as in control as ever, calmly planning her next move.

This was it, after all, the last move of the game. A game that had already had more than enough disturbance.

It was easy in the beginning. Murdoch had given her everything she needed. His letters had been her manual, her key to copying and completing his work. It had been so simple to pick the girls, when she was out covering all those damnably dull community events. Stable fundraisers, church fetes, beauty contests. And all the while, nobody ever suspected her. What was more natural, after all, than for a journalist to say to the excited little girl she was interviewing:

 _"And when's your birthday, my love?"_

But the game had changed the moment she realised Phryne Fisher was in Port Leopold. The day she had come to _Courier'_ s offices, Verity knew she had to change her plan. This wasn't about resurrection anymore. It was about revenge. First, creating this character of Ezra Hill to throw them off the scent, then leaving a message for her in the hotel room she shared with that haunted looking policeman, then (and this, she was especially proud of) going out of her way to slaughter Myrtle Hill. She had betrayed Murdoch too, after all. And it was the perfect opportunity to plant yet more evidence in favour of the Ezra Hill theory. Most importantly, she wanted to scare Miss Fisher out of her mind. Make her just reckless enough to…

Well, to do this.

Verity smiled, a predator's leer, as she watched Miss Fisher looking out of the window. _Still looking for Ezra Hill_ , she supposed. _What a fool_.

"What was he like?" her voice cut through the silence.

Phryne's head turned slightly at her question, but her eyes remained on the window.

"Who?"

"Murdoch Foyle. In the flesh."

They locked eyes then, and Verity could see disgust in the other woman's eyes. _She pities me_ , Verity thought. _She thinks I'm like those others, those obsessives. She doesn't know who I am._

" _You_ wrote about him," Phryne replied, her tone slightly accusatory.

"But you met him. That must have been…" she tried to keep the reverence out of her voice, but the way Phryne was narrowing her eyes told her she may not have succeeded.

 _Oh well. It hardly matters now._

"You want me to say there was something different about him?" Phryne responded angrily. "That he was special in some way? Well, he wasn't. He was just a man."

Verity felt rage bubble in her chest, but she tempered it.

"Do you think it might be true?"

"What?" Phryne snapped. Verity could tell her former thawing towards her was quickly reversing.

"That he can really resurrect himself? Come back from the dead?"

"No."

"Even if someone finishes what he started?"

Phryne frowned and turned back to the window. Suddenly, her whole body stiffened and her eyes widened.

 _She knows._

Verity found she almost welcomed it.

()

It was the questions about Foyle that did it, that turned a cloud of vague suspicion into something more solid, more tangible. Phryne was just working through the various possibilities – was the journalist involved with Ezra Hill, with Foyle? What did she know? – when a sight out of the window made everything crystal clear.

Jack was running towards the hotel.

Even from this distance, she could see the desperation etched onto his features. Although he ran at speed, his movements were determined and precise and she _knew_. Here was a man who was in the thick of it, who had just realised the truth of it, and who was running for his life. For her life, she realised, as she looked down at the flask she had taken a drink from moments before.

"What did you put in here?" she asked, her voice like gravel. She turned round, and Verity was no longer in the armchair. She was standing in front of her, her right arm grossly elongated by the knife in her hand.

"Don't you recognise it?" said Verity. Her voice was sickly sweet, horribly at odds with the look of vicious satisfaction on her face. "You've had it before, after all."

"Where is Maisie?" Phryne could already feel her strength begin to ebb, and she knew she only had moments before she lost control of her limbs. But she had to know where Maisie was. A distant part of her brain reminded her that the last time she had felt like this, she had wanted to know where a little girl was too.

Verity was still smiling viciously. "Please," Phryne said. "She has a father who is desperate." When Verity still didn't answer, she tried again. "Foyle told me."

"What?" Now she had Verity's attention.

"Foyle told me. Once I took the potion. He told me where my sister was."

Verity blinked, surprised, then let out a long suffering sigh. "The policeman's daughter is alive," she said, her tone indifferent.

Phryne felt her heart lift, despite the creeping feeling of numbness in her limbs.

"I didn't see the point in sacrificing her too," Verity explained, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. "Not once…"

"Not once you realised you could have Myrtle and I."

"The ones who got away." Verity replied, wonderingly. Then she laughed, a sudden, cruel noise. "I let myself get carried away with Myrtle, I have to admit. But she looked so confused. As if she couldn't understand why. As if she thought she didn't deserve it after what she did…"

"She didn't do anything!" With all her remaining strength, she rushed at Verity, pushing her to the ground and toppling over as much furniture as she could in the process. Verity screamed, but held on to the knife, writhing underneath Phryne, who tried with all her might to pin her to the ground.

"Help!" she shouted. "Help!" She knew, as Verity did not, that there were police officers stationed in nearby rooms who would come to her aid at the first sign of trouble. Unfortunately, with Verity holding a knife on her, she hadn't been able to make the appropriate level of noise until now, and she could already feel her strength draining away to nothing.

She took hold of Verity's right arm and tried to bang her hand against the floor to loosen her grip on the knife, but her fingers wouldn't obey and Verity was able to pull her arm away easily. Realising that the drug was beginning to take effect, she crowed triumphantly, pushing Phryne off of her and holding the knife aloft.

"Stop right there!" the door burst open and two Port Leopold policemen burst in, Jack hot on their heels. The constables pulled Verity up before she even had a chance to register their presence.

"Get her in handcuffs," ordered Jack, panting, his hands already on Phryne's shoulders. "Are you alright?" His face was flooded with relief at the sight of her alive.

"Yes, but…" Phryne tailed off and pointed at the flask by her feet. Jack's eyes closed briefly in horrified understanding, but his hands stroked her hair with calm reassurance. "Alright. Don't worry. I've got you."

Phryne nodded, confident that he did. This was the second time she would have to put herself in his safe keeping until the paralysis drug wore off. And although she hadn't exactly had a choice in the matter, it didn't scare her. He was the only one she could surrender herself to. The only one there ever had been. The only one there ever _would_ be.

That realisation filled her heart, and she summoned her remaining strength. She wanted them to finish this together.

She clawed at Jack, indicating she wanted to get up. He pulled her to her feet, supporting her in his arms, and addressed the journalist.

"Verity Shawcross, I'm arresting you for the murders of Clarissa Downs, Agnes Waterhouse and Maisie Green, and the attempted murder – "

But Phryne was plucking at the lapel of his coat, trying to say something. He put his ear down to her lips. "What?"

"She's still alive, Jack. Maisie is still…" with that, Phryne slumped in his arms, her body finally submitting to the power of the drug. He automatically swept an arm behind her legs to lift her up fully, his mind still whirring with the possibility of what she had said.

"Wait!" he said, stopping the officers who were beginning to lead Verity out of the room. He carefully laid Phryne down on the hotel room bed, and turned back to the murderer.

"Where is Maisie? Is she still alive?"

Verity nodded sullenly.

"Tell me where to find her."

()

From the locked room that her body had become, Phryne could only surmise so much of her surroundings.

She heard Verity be taken from the room.

She could hear distant bells, from which she could surmise that D.I. March had been proactive and called an ambulance.

She could hear Jack frantically talking to his colleagues, mapping out some plan of action. She strained to hear more, but the details were lost to her. He was on edge, she could tell that much, barking orders and making short, terse phone calls.

The bells stopped, and all of a sudden, into a blank expanse of ceiling came Jack's face.

"Phryne?"

She couldn't give any signal that she could hear or see him, but she tried to put as much feeling into her eyes as she could.

Jack's own eyes were full of concern. "Phryne, if you can hear me… listen, these men are going to take you down to the ambulance, alright?"

She couldn't see the men, of course, but Jack looked behind him at where he'd been talking to his colleagues.

"I want you to get checked over at hospital," he continued.

She tried to nod, and failed.

"I would take you myself, but I have to go… I have to go and find Maisie. " His facial expression hovered somewhere between fear and hope, and if Phryne had been the sort of woman to pray, now would have been the moment.

 _Please let him find her_ , she thought.

"We're just getting some medical supplies loaded up."

Which explained the absence of voices in the room now that the ambulance had arrived.

Jack glanced behind him and lowered his voice. He was pale, she noticed. "Phryne, I know this isn't the time to discuss what happened last night." He gave a quick, tense smile. "Even if you could answer back. But I can't – " he paused and leaned in closer. "I can't go out and do this without saying this. I don't know if you meant what you said, about us not working. But Phryne," now his voice became stronger, his expression confident. "I think we do work. This last week has been a nightmare for both of us. I know we've snapped, and argued and done the wrong thing, but… we're still here. When it comes down to it, we're here for each other."

Phryne saw, rather than felt, him taking her hand. Her heart was beating frantically inside her useless body. She thought back over the last few hours. How focussed she had been on his flaws, on what she had considered his negativity and over-protectiveness. Maybe he had been those things – and who could blame him? Her reckless behaviour had drawn those qualities out of him, behaviour, she now realised, that had been entirely engineered by Verity Shawcross. She had played her so well, drawing her to Melbourne with that false name, driving her to near desperation with Myrtle's murder and then dropping that 'too good to miss' lead right in their laps? Of course, Phryne had grabbed at the chance, totally disregarding Jack in the process. And now, he was going off to do the most important thing he might ever do, and she couldn't even put her arms around him.

Jack spoke again. "I know that if you could move _at all_ you'd be coming with me right now. And I know if you could talk you'd be wishing me luck. You've got my back. Nothing that we've been through has taken that away. And I want you… I need you to know I've got your back too. No matter what."

 _No matter what_ , she thought. She remembered Jack that night, that last attempt to talk her into reason, the quiet determination to help even when she said no. His realisation of the truth, signalled to her by his horrified dash up to the room and finally, his arms, holding her strongly as she melted into numbness.

Of course she knew. Of course she knew he had her back.

"Even if…" Jack was still talking, his voice tight and controlled. "Even if you did mean it. I'll still be here for you."

Every atom of Phryne's body screamed to tell him that of course she didn't mean it, of course she wanted him, of course she wanted _them_.

But if Jack's sombre expression was anything to go by, there was nothing getting through.

"I suppose I'll have to wait to find that out," he said softly, his eyes searching hers.

"Jack! We're ready!" a voice called from somewhere nearby. Jack looked up and nodded, before turning back to Phryne.

"I'll see you soon." The light was temporarily blocked out as Jack leant down to kiss her on the forehead. For a moment all was dark and she could pretend to themselves it was just the two of them, but then he was gone, and the ceiling was back, stark and white and bare.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:** Well, here we are - the penultimate post! Last proper chapter today and an epilogue tomorrow. I hope you have all enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing! Let me know what you think, all feedback gratefully received!

Thanks for hanging in this far!

Gingham xx

 **Previously** : Phryne got another dose of the good old paralysis drug and Verity was arrested - but not before she revealed that Maisie may still be alive...

 **Chapter 18**

It was early evening at the St Jude's Hospital in Port Leopold. Lying in her private room, Phryne idly wondered why the benefactors of the hospital had chosen as their namesake the patron saint of impossible causes.

Hope against all the odds, maybe. After all, that was her primary activity now, hope. It had been ever since Jack had left her at the Bluebird Hotel, the only difference now was that she had regained the use of her limbs enough to fuss and fidget and generally worry her way through the hours that had elapsed since she saw him last.

No news had reached her from the operation to find Maisie Green. She had tried to occupy herself with 'phone calls to Dot, and Mr Butler, and Mac, promising that she was well and that they would both be home soon. But even as she made her assurances, she worried.

She knew it was too much to hope that finding Maisie alive would erase Jack's memories of Lucy. In a way, that would be a disservice to both of them. They were separate cases, individuals, young girls with their own lives to live and families to love, and to be loved – and mourned - by. But to find Maisie… was it too much to hope? That it would be some sort of redemption?

Phryne wasn't sure. But she _was_ sure that the opposite outcome would be devastating. Jack had already expressed his desperation to not fail another girl like Lucy. What would he be left with if his darkest fears came true? If he got there too late? What would _she_ be left with? How much of Jack would come back to her, and more importantly, could she ever make him whole again?

She was certain, too, that the one sided conversation Jack had begun in the hotel would never be finished if he didn't find Maisie. Not that she could blame him for that, she mentally chided herself. But she longed to tell him how much she loved him, how much she wanted them to work.

And she knew from experience, that if the worst happened, Jack would never hear her.

Telephone calls done, medical examinations complete. The hours ticked by.

And all Phryne could do was wait.

()

The nurse directed him to a private room off the main ward. His first glimpse of her, thank God, was movement. He hated seeing her under the influence of that awful stuff, so still and frozen, when he was so used to her perpetual motion.

She was brushing her hair. Probably just for want of something to do with her hands, he reasoned, noting her hair was as shiny and perfect as ever. He stood against the door jamb, watching.

He was reminded irresistibly of a world he'd rarely had access to before the change in their relationship; Phryne, before and after the creation of her perfect, put-together self. On his days off, he loved nothing more than watching her prepare herself for her day. Or, better still, to watch her get ready for bed in the evenings, stripping off her make-up and slipping into bed with him, natural and unadorned.

The reminder of such intimacy, such easy domesticity touched him and seemed to release something deep in his chest. He bit his lip as he watched her, surprised and horrified to be blinking back tears.

She saw him and looked up, her hairbrush falling from her hand. Seeing his tears, she was out of bed and beside him in one smooth movement, her hands on his chest as she looked up at him with terrified eyes.

"Jack… what happened?"

Jack shook his head, unable to speak but knowing that she feared the worst. He grasped her forearms.

"We found her," he whispered. "She's going to be alright."

Phryne sagged against his chest, dizzy with relief. "Thank God. Thank God."

Jack nodded and pulled her close to him. They stood for a few minutes, rocking gently.

Presently, Jack realised where they were. "You should be in bed," he accused softly, holding Phryne away from him.

"I feel fine." The smile on her face gave truth to her words, but Jack steered her back towards the bed anyway.

"The doctor says you need to rest."

"You spoke to him?"

Jack nodded as he encouraged her to get back into bed. "He said you should have no ill effects. But you shouldn't make a habit of it."

Phryne snorted. "I'm trying not to, believe me. Jack – " She caught his hand. "Sit. Please. Tell me everything."

He allowed her to pull him down onto the bed, sitting beside her as she faced him. Taking a deep breath, he began to relate the story.

Verity had told him that Maisie was at her house. Arriving at the address, all was dark and quiet. Jack had felt a deep sense of dread as he remembered breaking into the abandoned office block to find Lucy's body. They went through the house quietly and methodically; they didn't want to terrify her after all, if she was there. They could find no sign of Maisie, alive or dead, and after almost an hour of searching, Jack was almost ready to give up hope. But then, he noticed a tall bookshelf, its shadow slightly off, as if it had been put against the wall at an angle.

"Help me with this!"

The officers heaved together, their eyes widening as they looked behind the unit.

With hindsight, it was perhaps unsurprising, Jack told Phryne, that someone with such a passion for pharaohs and pyramids would have cultivated an interest in hidden doors.

The door led to a basement, and it was there they found her.

"She'd left her food and water," Jack explained. "Enough to keep her going for a week or so. I suppose she assumed someone would find her eventually."

"I think that's rather too generous," Phryne replied bitterly. She was quite sure Verity had spared no thought for the child, content to let her starve to death once she was no longer part of her grand plan.

"Maybe you're right. Anyway, other than the essentials the conditions down there were awful…" Jack's voice died away as he recalled the state he had found the child in. Phryne reached out to take his hand.

"She must have been exhausted," Jack said. "She was asleep when we found her; practically unconscious."

In fact, it had taken several minutes to rouse the little girl. After checking her breathing and her pulse, and noting that, heartbreakingly, she was still wearing her medal from the treasure hunt, Jack had gathered her up and taken her straight to the cars, where, blinking in the sunlight, Maisie awoke.

"She was crying," Jack said. He was looking down at his hands. "But… I don't know. At least she was crying."

Phryne nodded, understanding. That Maisie was alive and able to express even distress at her situation was a miracle.

"We brought her straight here and the doctors are checking her over. But they think she'll be fine." Jack eyes fluttered shut, experiencing the relief he had felt once more.

"Jack…" Phryne hardly knew where to begin. Unable to find the words, she reached out to cup his face in her palm, pulling herself to him and placing a tender kiss on his cheek. He turned towards her, and they leaned together, their foreheads touching, their eyes closed.

"Phryne…" he breathed.

"You found her, Jack. You found her."

Jack exhaled deeply and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder. Phryne moved forward on her knees to get closer to him, winding her arms around his neck.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," she whispered after a few moments

"For what?" Jack's question was accompanied by a tight squeeze around her ribs.

Phryne pulled back, allowing him to see the tears that were threatening to spill. "I doubted us. I thought we might… I don't know," she shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I should never have thought it and I never should have made you think it, and I'm sorry."

"Phryne…" The relief was evident in Jack's voice. He took a deep breath as he wiped her face with his thumbs. "You can't apologise for what you felt."

"But I didn't feel it, not really! It was that woman making me question everything! She played me, and I fell for it, Jack, and I should be better than that!"

Jack took her shoulders firmly. "Phryne, it's alright that you questioned us. I've never sought blind faith from you." He gave a small laugh. "I know I'd never get it if I did. We're detectives, not theologians. We have to question things. It's how we know they're real."

Phryne sniffed. "Don't tell me you think this was all some sort of test, I might sock you."

Jack smiled. "I don't believe in tests sent from God or fate or… whoever else might be out there."

"What do you believe?"

He tilted his head, giving the matter some thought. "I believe in life. Which will always throw whatever it can at us. Some of it, we won't think we can get through. And it will make us question ourselves, apart, and together. But we will get through it. And I hope…" Jack took her hands. "I hope very much, that however many times we question ourselves, we always come up with the same answer."

"And what answer is that, Jack Robinson?" There was a slight smirk on her face, and he responded with a censorious glance that seemed to say, _I haven't finished yet._

"That as long as you're with me, I don't much care what life throws at us next."

()

Sometime later, Sister Donovan looked into Miss Fisher's private room to see a scandalous sight. The patient, still clad in a hospital gown, was curled up on the bed, and her visitor – her _male_ visitor, was also on the bed, curled up behind her.

On the bright side, she thought, the Inspector was at least on top of the covers and fully clothed.

On the other side, he was still wearing his shoes.

Her last nerve shredded, Sister Donovan descended on the unsuspecting pair.

"What on earth do you think you are doing?"

Jack shot bolt upright on the bed, startled out of a deep sleep. He blinked at the Nurse in shock.

"This is a hospital," the Sister raged. " _Not_ a bordello."

"I'm sorry, Sister," said Jack, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. They hadn't meant to sleep, truly. But after the relief of finding Maisie and of finding themselves still together, it had seemed like the only sensible action.

He looked down with affectionate irritation at Phryne, who was stretching languidly, in blissful ignorance of the situation and looking for all the world as if she were tucked up in her silk sheets at Wardlow.

"Visiting time is over," the Sister hissed. "You need to go."

Jack nodded his surrender, his hands checking his tie.

The Sister bustled off, and Phryne opened one eye. "Is she gone?"

Jack chuckled. "I knew you weren't asleep."

"There's no reason I should have to face her anger too. Can we go now?"

Jack stood up, and looked around for his overcoat, which had been draped over a nearby chair. "The doctor wants to keep you in overnight for observation."

"Oh for God's sake," Phryne huffed.

"I think Mac may have been involved in that decision," Jack suggested, pulling his coat on.

"Hmpff."

He stretched, barely concealing a yawn. "My God. I don't think I've ever been so tired."

Phryne thawed instantly, pulling him back down to sit beside her. He landed on the bed with a thump.

"Please don't make me stay," he pleaded. "I think that nurse might kill me, but I don't have the energy to say no."

"I wasn't going to," Phryne smiled. "I want you to go back to the hotel, pack our things, get a good night's sleep and then get me the hell out of here first thing in the morning. I just wanted to kiss you goodnight first."

"I see."

"If you can muster the energy, of course."

"I'll do my best." He leaned in to brush her lips softly, and she pressed into him, deepening the kiss.

"Is it really all over?" she whispered, when they finally broke apart. "I can hardly believe it."

"It's not over, sweetheart," he replied. "We'll think about it, and talk about it, and maybe even argue about it. But not tonight."

"No, not tonight. And the questioning stage is officially over."

"That's good to know. Did you reach the same conclusion as me?"

"That life can throw what it wants at us?" She smiled. "I think so."

Jack gave her a final kiss before standing up to take his leave.

Phryne leant back against her pillows. "It would be exceedingly nice if what life wanted to throw at us now was a long, deep sleep and a pleasant and uneventful drive back to Melbourne.

"I'll see what I can do," promised Jack, reaching for his hat.

"And maybe some pastries for the trip," Phryne continued, her eyelids beginning to feel heavy.

Jack's lips quirked upwards. "Uh-huh. Anything else?"

"And when we get back, maybe a lovely party with all our friends… and champagne… and dancing…"

The last thing Phryne saw before she drifted off was Jack smirking as he placed his fedora on his head.

"Duly noted, Miss Fisher.


	19. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** This is the epilogue of this piece and I hope it ties up any loose ends neatly! Thanks to all who have read, reviews and favourited, it means a lot!

Love,

Gingham xx

 **Previously:** Phryne and Jack reconciled at the hospital, and Maisie Green was found.

 **Epilogue**

"So Ezra Hill didn't exist then?"

Mac was questioning them intently, a cigarette turning to ash in her hands. Mr Butler discreetly slipped an ashtray underneath it, before turning to refill cocktails.

A house party was in full swing, just as Phryne had desired. But, just as Jack had desired, they had waited a few days to throw it. He had insisted they needed time to be themselves again, to adjust to the events that had taken place in Port Leopold and most importantly, to sleep.

Their last act in the town had been to visit Maisie, and the sight of her sitting up laughing in her father's arms had warmed their hearts. When Tom had taken Jack aside to thank him profusely for the safe return of his daughter, Phryne had looked away to hide her face, but couldn't help giving his arm an extra tight squeeze as they walked out of the hospital to the Hispano.

It had indeed been a pleasant and uneventful drive back to Melbourne, and Jack had indeed provided pastries; a welcome treat after hospital food Phryne described as 'inedible'. And now, of course, there was a party.

But there had been difficult conversations too, times when they forced themselves to go over what they had gone through in Port Leopold. The fear was, if they didn't do it now, might some lingering resentment bubble its way to the surface when they were least expecting it?

Jack had apologised again, despite Phryne's protestation, for keeping the case from her. "It all came true, everything I feared." Jack had said. "But that still wasn't a good enough reason to hide it from you."

"It's natural to want to protect the people you love," Phryne had replied. "But 'protect' doesn't always mean 'hide' or 'shield'. It can also mean help and support. Or repair, even. I suppose that's why I came to Port Leopold in the first place. To try to help."

"You did help. More than help."

Phryne had scoffed, plucking the bedsheets in which they were both entwined. "Until I became so obsessed with the case and Ezra Hill that I forgot to. Then I just caused you even more grief than usual."

"We still finished it together. Alright, I wished you had been more willing to talk about it first, but at least you didn't try to finish it behind my back."

She had given a soft smile, grateful for his words and knowing he was being far more generous than she deserved. "Help, don't hide."

"Help, don't hide," he had echoed, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

"Anyway, not everything you feared came true. We're still here. And..." She had twisted round to face him. "You found Maisie."

He kissed her deeply. "We found her," he had corrected.

"I was paralysed at the time."

"I knew you were with me."

So, after a few days of catching up on their sleep and using the days Jack had been given off to gradually get back to normal, Phryne reminded Jack about their party. She had only had one hurried conversation with Mac since their return, as she had been working double shifts, and she longed to get dressed up, drink champagne and see all their friends.

And Mac, from the look of her now, had been just as desperate to catch up.

"I mean, this Shawcross woman just made him up?"

"He was a figment of her imagination," Phryne explained, smilingly accepting a cocktail from Mr Butler.

Bert and Cec were arguing over records in the corner of the room, but Dot and Hugh were listening in rapt attention from the chaise, Dot's hand on her bump.

"What about the letters, Miss?" Dot asked.

"She wrote them," Phryne answered. "After Jack and I left the _Courier_ offices, she hatched her plan and faked the letter, using a name that would deliberately catch our attention and connect the writer to Foyle."

"She knew how to imitate Foyle's writing," Jack chimed in, taking the story up from his habitual post by the mantelpiece. "Because she had been the one to correspond with him in prison."

"She just wanted a story, initially," Phryne explained. "But she became obsessed with him. He was good at that, you see. Drawing people to him."

Jack left his post to get another drink, briefly putting a hand on Phryne's shoulder. She smiled gratefully up at him, and their friends were reminded suddenly that this wasn't just another case they were being regaled with.

"How awful," Dot whispered, and took Hugh's hand.

"She set that warning in our suite and then went straight to Melbourne. She killed Myrtle, and planted another letter from Ezra Hill."

"So when Myrtle Hill said someone had contacted her…?" Hugh said.

"It wasn't Ezra Hill." Phryne finished. "It was Verity Shawcross."

"She set up the scene at the Bluebird Hotel too," Jack explained, back at the mantel now. "She booked the room under the name of Mr Hill, and put the coat and hat there before she even told us about the meeting. Then, she bribed the receptionist to say a man was staying in the room."

"And you didn't suspect her?" Mac directed her question at Phryne. "That's not like you."

"I didn't like her," Phryne said, a tone of defensiveness in her voice. "I thought she was a ghoul. But I was so obsessed with this man behind the letters. He became… well, he became very Murdoch Foyle shaped. No matter how much Jack tried to get me to see sense."

She reached out a hand and Jack took it. She hadn't ever thought the killer was Foyle. But it may have well have been, for the fear the unknown culprit sparked in her. It was panic, she realised now.

"You did say you thought it was a woman." Jack was being generous again.

"That was before I lost all reason. It was you who figured it out."

"How?" asked Hugh.

Jack reluctantly drew his eyes away from Phryne's. "It was such a good cover," he said. "Being a journalist. She literally was everywhere. But I should have realised it when I found that article on woman involved in murder cases. She was obsessed with Foyle's case. That should have been enough."

Mac looked from one to the other, aware that a forlorn tone had crept its way into the conversation. "Don't be hard on yourselves, please. This case has been hard enough. You're still here, and so is Maisie Green. That's enough to justify a celebration, isn't it?"

"Yes!" Phryne was jubilant in her agreement. "You're absolutely right, Mac."

"I often am," Mac returned, making Jack chuckle.

Cec finally won his argument with Bert and slipped a jazz record on. More cocktails were poured. The night wore on, the laughter grew louder, and Hugh found a way to lever his very pregnant wife out of her chair and home before the serious dancing started.

Mac had grabbed Jack for a dance and he was good naturedly allowing her to steer him tipsily around the parlour, laughing openly at her attempts to make him move in a slightly more modern fashion than he was generally accustomed to.

Phryne put down her glass and interrupted them with a squeeze to Mac's waist. "May I?"

Mac twisted to place a kiss on her friend's cheek and relinquished Jack. "Gladly."

Jack pulled Phryne close, noting her alcohol flushed cheeks. At least this time she wasn't angry with him, he thought, burying his nose gratefully in her hair.

He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent. Soap, lavender bath oils, French perfume, and the one puff of cigarette she had stolen from Mac.

This was real, he thought. More real than ghosts from the past or shadows in the dark. Port Leopold seemed a long way off tonight, as if it might not exist at all.

He thought back to before the case, when he had thought that afterwards, he might not have been welcome back at Wardlow. It would have been like falling off the edge of the world.

And despite everything, they were still here, together. He smiled, and extended his arm.

Phryne turned, stumbled and was only just stopped from falling by Jack's arms at her back.

"I've got you," Jack said softly.

Phryne wound her arms around his neck. Her Jack. Still here.

"I know you do."


End file.
